


Dovah Queen - Dragonborn Adventurer

by HarperPotts



Series: Dovah Queen [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Elder Scrolls Lore, Gen, No Skyrim Knowledge Required, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Redemption Must Be Earned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24155488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarperPotts/pseuds/HarperPotts
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen achieved her dream of winning the Iron Throne, only to be killed by a dagger to the heart by Jon Snow. However, her story did not end there. Instead of the afterlife, Daenerys awoke to find herself in the land of Skyrim in Tamriel.Knowledge of Skyrim is NOT required. The world will be explained as the story unfolds.Special thanks to my betas: Grigori on SpaceBattles and Rattatatouille on Sufficient Velocity.The previous books of the Dovah Queen Series:Dovah Queen, Dragonborn Rising - It's a long fall from queen to tavern wench. Will Daenerys rise again?Dovah Queen, Dragonborn Champion - Acclaimed the Dragonborn, Champion of Skyrim, Daenerys is expected to solve all Skyrim's problems from bandits to dragons.The story of Daenerys Targaryen in Tamriel continues in Dovah Queen, Dragonborn Adventurer.
Series: Dovah Queen [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559446
Comments: 58
Kudos: 54





	1. Prologue

# 

# Prologue

Morndas, the 15th of Last Seed, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Sofija had never liked council meetings, but she understood that they were important. Daenerys had explained why. People followed orders better when they got to say their piece. Plus, sometimes they came up with good ideas. Leaders didn’t know everything. Most of the important stuff, even battles, got decided in council meetings. At least Daenerys had run her meetings like the captain of a ship. Everyone said their piece, Daenerys decided, and they got shit done.

Saerlund’s council meetings were skeever shit. He let everyone talk and talk and talk. He would sometimes nod wisely, or step in and ask a question, but mostly he just listened. She knew what he was doing. Daenerys did that in a small way. That had been one of her lessons. The point was to let people talk it out. However, Daenerys had little tolerance for boasting and bragging at her councils. That’s what taverns were for. Sofija was bored and had things to do. Everyone knew all this already, or almost all of it. This wasn’t getting shit done. This was a bunch of men waving their dicks about how important they were.

The current dick-waver was the newly minted Lord Honrich. Saerlund had handed out a lot of estates. Lord Honrich, formerly Addvild Lake-Heart, had been an overseer for the Snow-Shods. He seemed like a decent enough fellow. He was getting things done. But, put him at the council table, give him a few drinks, and he rambled on and on about his people sleeping in fields so they would have enough food to last the winter. Building homes had to wait. Repairs on the fortress of Falder’s Tooth had to wait. His people were suffering.

When Honrich finally sat down, the new Lord Treva had to explain why his people were suffering more from the same problems, and the fortress of Treva’s Watch would take even longer to repair. At least when Vignar Grey-Mane, or Lord Ivarstead as he was called now, had his turn, he didn’t bitch or moan. He said his piece, said it quick, and sat down. She felt like applauding.

Really, she got it. She’d been there with the Dragonguard and had taken Treva’s Watch while Harrald Law-Giver and the Riften Guard took Falder’s Tooth. These new estates were a big deal for the Rift. The deal that Saerlund; his steward, Anuriel; and Camilla Valerius had worked out was a big deal. They were putting the out-of-work and desperate of Riften to work, letting them earn their own land instead of being thralls. Not that Saerlund was giving away land for free. The new tenants were indentured. It took twenty years of service to buy a plot for a single family. Or, ten peacetime years in the Riften Guard. Or, five years in the Riften Guard if they went to war. Or, three years in the Dragonguard. Family members could serve instead, so sons and daughters were signing up to serve while their parents worked the land. The people of the Rift loved Saerlund for it.

The deal had cost them Vignar Grey-Mane. Saerlund had wanted a noble from the Dragonguard to be made Lord Ivarstead. There really hadn’t been anyone else, but it was worth it. She wasn’t clever with numbers, but she understood when Camilla Valerius spelled it out. The biggest expense the Dragonguard had was daily pay. The deal cut salaries to almost nothing. They still had to buy food, weapons, armor, and such, but the Dragonguard suddenly had money to spare. They spent a good deal of their treasury. They brought on more troops. They were more than a hundred strong now. They bought better gear. They bought a horse for every scout. Most importantly, they built ballistae. They had ten of them now. Three based on the new plans from the Dawnguard. Without the Dragonborn, without Tongues, and with Faralda their only battlemage, those ballistae were their best hope for killing a dragon.

She would have traded it all to have Daenerys back.

Six weeks and no sign of Daenerys or Barbas. The first week they had all but taken Riften apart searching for her. After that week, Saerlund clearly believed Daenerys was dead, even with Nura Snow-Shod proclaiming that she believed that the Dragonborn was still alive. He didn’t say it, but it was in the way he asked about her. Sofija hadn’t given up. She would never give up. Even if her only proof was the word of Karliah.

Most people would not regard a daedra worshiper and former thief now turned spy as a reliable source, but Sofija had reason to believe her. Sofija didn’t know exactly what happened the night that Daenerys met with Karliah, but she knew the result. Karliah and Galdrus had both started acting like Daenerys held their leash. She had seen the tattoo that had suddenly appeared on the back of Daenerys’ hand: a golden cage with two black birds. Even she could read between those lines. Karliah was convinced that Daenerys was alive somewhere. She had dispatched Nightingales to infiltrate Windhelm, Whiterun, Solitude, and the Thalmor Embassy. They hadn’t received word back yet. It was simply too soon. However, Karliah had joined the Dragonguard under an alias as a scout. That said a lot. Even if the Nightingale refused direct orders and claimed that she reported to the Dragonborn alone.

However, Karliah wouldn’t say that Daenerys was well. Just that she was alive.

“Good,” said Saerlund after letting the windbags all have their turn. Saerlund looked tired and older now. He was also sweating from all the layers of finery he was wearing. “Now, I have important news to share. The rider we dispatched to Whiterun has returned. Jarl Balgruuf sends his regards and has agreed to an alliance in principle between Whiterun and the Rift. We have agreed that the worship of Talos will be allowed within our territories and that the Thalmor are not allowed to intimidate, arrest, or execute any of our citizens for the ‘crime’ of worshiping Talos. They are also banned from the cities of Whiterun and Riften. We also agreed not to take up arms against the Empire at this time.”

There were lots of cheers and cries of agreement around the table.

When the cheering died down, Jarl Law-Giver continued. “We have yet to hear back from our messenger to Windhelm, but it is unlikely that the Stormcloaks or the Imperials will seek to move against us.”

Sofija only half-listened as Saerlund explained things she already knew to his council.

Ulfric Stormcloak was unlikely to do anything. As long as Whiterun and the Rift were neutral he wouldn’t have to worry about Imperials marching at him from the south. He would only have to defend from the sea and from the west. Even with the Stormcloak alliance reduced to only three holds, that was a strategic advantage he wouldn’t throw away to attack the Rift. Only an idiot fought a war on two fronts if they didn’t have to. Ulfric wasn’t an idiot.

The Empire was also unlikely to do anything. They hadn’t pressed the war yet, and they weren’t likely to start attacking with the Stormcloak Rebellion losing strength. They were more likely to apply political pressure to Jarl Skald. If the war became active, the Pale would be the first hold to be invaded. Dawnstar, the largest city in the Pale was also on the coast, which made it vulnerable to attack by the sea. However, no one in Riften really knew what was going on in the rest of Skyrim.

Listening to the debate, Sofija was struck by how much Daenerys’ plan to use ravens would change things in Skyrim. Not that it would happen any time soon. The roosts in Winterhold and Windhelm should have fully grown ravens by now. The ravens in Whiterun were probably too young still. If the girl had even been able to get them to nest this late in the year. However, the birds weren’t magic. The could only fly home. They had to be transported to another city before they could carry messages. However, in a few years ravens would make a huge difference in warfare. Not to mention politics. If they’d had ravens in place, they could have sent warning everywhere about Maven Black-Briar.

While she had drifted off thinking about ravens, the blowhards kept blowing smoke. Sofija was unsurprised that all of them agreed with Jarl Law-Giver. Several made the same point that Winterhold was barely a hold any longer. Since the collapse, it was really a large town. Winterhold was only counted as a hold for historical reasons.

Sofija wasn’t sure she agreed. While Winterhold was the smallest hold numerically, under Jarl Kraldar they might be the most active hold in the entire rebellion. She knew that Jarl Kraldar was steadily building ships and recruiting pirates as privateers. So far this had gone unnoticed because there had always been pirates in the Sea of Ghosts, but sooner or later the merchants would notice they were losing more ships. They would complain to the Empire and Solitude. Since it had been Daenerys that had encouraged Kraldar on that path, Sofija kept her mouth shut about it.

She also wasn’t convinced that Riften’s defection to neutrality hurt the Stormcloaks. Riften had never done much to support the rebellion. A few volunteers from the Rift had enlisted in the Stormcloaks, but the Rift hadn’t sent a single soldier. A neutral Rift still protected Ulfric’s southern border, so it didn’t change much militarily. Politically, it probably did, but the Stormcloak Rebellion was far from over.

Saerlund turned to her. “Sofija Ēlī Vokēdrie, Jarl Balgruuf also sent a message. Neither Maven Black-Briar nor Lady Targaryen have been seen in Whiterun. If Maven shows her face, he will have her arrested. If Lady Targaryen visits Whiterun, he will help her return to the Dragonguard as fast as possible.”

Sofija nodded again. This discussion wasn’t for her benefit. It was for everyone else. She had been informed about it before the meeting started. She stood up to address everyone. “That comes as no surprise. Maven was not likely to flee to a hold friendly to the Dragonguard.”

Saerlund nodded. “True. I believe it is your turn now. What news from the Dragonguard? Most importantly, has there been any word of Lady Targaryen?”

“Nothing new, but we know she is alive.” She said it firmly. She couldn’t show any doubt. Even if her only real proof was the word of Karliah. She gave Nura Snow-Shod a nudge with her foot.

“Sometimes,” said Nura. “You don’t need visible proof. She was sent by Talos, and our time of need has not passed. I believe she was not stolen. The gods have taken her to where she needs to be to do what must be done.”

The jarl sighed. “Yes, of course. We must all have faith in the gods. You’re still planning on taking the Dragonguard to Morthal?”

“Yes, I am,” agreed Sofija. She didn’t say why. Saerlund already knew why. The rest of the council didn’t need to know.

Morthal was the closest settlement to the Nord barrow of Ustengrav. According to Esbern they would find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller in Ustengrav. Sofija wasn’t sure she believed him. She did believe that Esbern had once been a Blade, and he was obviously a learned man. However, Esbern was old and half-senile. In the mornings he was brilliant. He rattled off obscure facts with confidence. However, by late afternoon he often couldn’t remember his own name. Some days were better than others, but crossing half of Skyrim on his word seemed like a bad plan. The problem was she didn’t have another plan. Daenerys had told her to acquire either battlemages or Tongues if she ever had to take over the Dragonguard. She had no way to acquire any battlemages, so that meant finding the horn.

Saerlund nodded. “I know that you hoped to find Lady Targaryen, and I appreciate the help of the Dragonguard in clearing out Treva’s Watch, but it has been more than a month with no sign of her. You asked for time for her to return. You’ve used that time well. You have built up the Dragonguard, made ballistae, acquired weapons and armor. I have given the Dragonguard all you have asked and more. How long will you wait for her? When will the Dragonguard march north?”

She wanted to rage at Saerlund even though she’d known the question was coming. What Saerlund was really asking was when they were going to march out and try to kill a dragon without the help of the Dragonborn. It might seem a reasonable request. The Dragonguard existed to kill dragons, and Saerlund had helped. The deal that allowed them to pay the Dragonguard in land was a good deal, but the Dragonguard was expected to do their share. They had to kill the dragon on the northern road from the Rift.

Saerlund didn’t have a fucking clue what he was asking. He’d never fought a dragon. He’d only heard the stories. Sure, they had more men. They had ten ballistae and three of them were built on the plans they’d gotten from the Dawnguard. They had crossbows with oblivion-damned poison to dip the bolts in. Poison that Ingun Black-Briar had promised would hurt even a dragon. Of course, Ingun been bound and staring at the chopping block when she made that promise, but other alchemists said it might work. So, they had hope, but no Dragonborn.

Men had killed dragons before even without a Dragonborn or a Tongue, but Sofija had been there. She’d fought two dragons. People called her Dragonslayer because she’d been crazy enough to jump on the back of one – after Val had broken its wing. However, that was nothing. The reason it had all worked was because Daenerys Targaryen had used herself as bait. Sure, Daenerys was immune to fire, but she wasn’t immune to being smacked around by explosions. Sofija had seen Daenerys fight two dragons. She’d just stood there in the open and dared the dragons to come and get her. It was the bravest thing she’d ever see anyone do ever, and when they knocked her down, Daenerys fucking got back up and dared them to do it again.

But it worked. It drove the dragons crazy. According to Daenerys dragons were smart, but they were also prideful and territorial. Mostly, they weren’t too impressed with people, but issuing a challenge like that got their attention. Which was necessary, because a dragon could just stay up in the sky flying around so fast that it took a lot of luck to hit them while frying everything that lived. Daenerys with her challenge brought them down to hover and land.

More people, crossbows, poison, ballistae, all of that would only work if she stood as bait like Daenerys did. She would have to stand in the open and yell out the only three words of Dovahzul that she knew: Daar, Staad, Dii, which meant ‘this place mine’. Then hope and pray to the gods that between the enchantments placed on her armor by the jarl’s magician and the potions of fire resistance she survived to do it again.

“Ēlī Vokēdrie?” asked Saerlund.

“Yeah, I heard you.” Fuck him. He didn’t know what those words meant. To him they were just foreign words. They meant First Faithful, because for once in her life she had done something right, she’d seen that Daenerys Targaryen wasn’t just a Tongue who could Shout a few words. She was the Dragonborn sent by the gods to save Skyrim. Sofija had been the first and that meant something. She’d get up and stand in the open and dare a dragon to kick her ass, but she wasn’t doing it for Saerlund. She was doing it because Daenerys had put her in charge. If she died living up to that promise, it was a good way to die. “We’ll leave for Morthal in three days. That will give you enough time to throw us a big going away party.”

“Good. I will indeed be throwing a party for the Dragonguard, and I would like to have a parade when you march out. I’ve heard you did one for Jarl Balgruuf when you left Whiterun.”

Sofija shrugged. “That’s fine. We’ll have a fucking parade. You know what. I’m done here.” She stepped away from the table. “I need to gather my council and put things in motion.”

Saerlund frowned. “Dragonslayer, if you need more time.” He wasn’t being rude about it. A little stuck up and proper, but he seemed genuinely concerned.

She was aware that all the fancy pompous nobles were watching her. Even Vignar was watching. She didn’t care. “No, we don’t need more time.” Time was running out. They would likely have to winter in Morthal as it was. They needed Daenerys, but they would have to go on without her. “We’ll leave in three days.”

Sofija turned and walked away. Daenerys wouldn’t have stormed off like a child, but Daenerys wasn’t here. Sofija would stand up and face a dragon, but she was done putting up with skeever shit council meetings.


	2. Chapter 2

# Chapter 1

Tirdas, the 5th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys didn’t want to wake up, but the evil sun wouldn’t let her sleep. The light beat down upon her closed eyes like a blacksmith forging a sword. Her head pounded from the harsh glare. The pain was as intense as setting the wolf free, but it went on and on. Her body didn’t want to roll over and her arms felt wooden as she tried to block the glare. Her mouth tasted like she’d ate something that had been rotting for three days. She couldn’t even go back to sleep because she also needed to find a chamberpot soon. She grabbed for her amulet. “Make it stop! Talos, please!” Gathering her will felt like being hit by a Shock spell, but the flow of healing brought her blessed relief. She kept it going until the throbbing pain went away.

“Ah, feeling better now are we, luv?” asked someone.

Daenerys sat up and glanced about. The first thing she noticed was the girl. She was an uncommonly pretty girl. She still had some of the roundness of face that came with youth, but already had a woman’s figure. Her clothing was designed to flaunt her assets. She wore a deceptively simple white gown gathered just below her breasts by a golden cord. A matching golden chain encircled her neck. An amulet shaped like a flower dangled from the necklace drawing the eye to the plunging neckline of the gown and revealing a generous amount of cleavage. By her accent, brown hair, and general appearance the girl was a Breton. The clothes and jewelry said wealth, possibly even noble. The girl had a pleasant smile upon her face and seemed distinctly amused.

The second thing she noticed was the room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were of grey stone. The blocks were of unusually large size and carved in patterns that she had seen once before in the Dwemer ruin where she’d fought the Dwarven Centurion. She had no idea where she was or how she had arrived at this place. It was certainly not Riften because it didn’t reek of shit.

The third thing she became aware of was that she naked from the waist up. No, she was completely naked. A soft and comfortable sheet had fallen into her lap when she sat up. It didn’t bother her that another woman could see her breasts, but it did bother her that she was naked while the other woman was clothed. Was she being kept naked on purpose? Why?

Even as she took in the room and its occupant, she also tried to remember where she was and how she had ended up in this bed. However, what she mostly remembered was having wild passionate sex. As her Dothraki handmaidens would have said, she had been ridden hard. The memories were erotic, not painful. She had been a willing participant. She remembered hard firm muscles, but not a face. Her thoughts kept jumping to Khal Drogo and Jon Snow, but her lover hadn’t been either of them. Regardless of her memories of being an equal participant, she still felt defiled and ashamed. She wanted to bathe, she was sweaty and felt dirty inside and out.

Other memories danced around but they were a mixed up and confused mess. There had been a pig involved at some point. Not in her bed. Some silly prank involving a pig. However, she also remembered talking monkeys, so her memories weren’t that reliable. Although she had certainly had sex with someone. Her last truly clear memory was having a drink with Sam in the Forgotten Hole in Riften.

Daenerys forced her attention to the girl in the white dress. “Thank you for taking care of me while I was indisposed. You seem to have me at a disadvantage. Who are you? And, where am I?” The chamber pot could wait for just a little longer.

“Hit the drink a little hard did’ja?” asked the girl with a smug grin. “I’m Senna. Senna the Acolyte. As for where you are, you’re currently a guest at the temple of Dibella. Well, I use the word guest loosely. Dibella is the goddess of sex as well as love, art, and beauty, but that doesn’t mean the priestesses are happy about you being sprawled naked on the altar when we arrived this morning. Not to mention ’ja swimming in the cleansing pool and ransacking the temple. They’ll be wanting a word wit’ja. Even if you are the Dragonborn.”

“Dibella?” That explained the flower amulet, and the gold necklace, but not where she was… Unless… Every major city in Skyrim had a patron deity. The patron god or goddess had the largest temple in each city. There would be smaller shrines to the other gods and goddess, sometimes small temples, but only one main temple. In Whiterun it was Kynareth. In Windhelm it was Talos. In Riften, Mara. Dwemer stonework, and Colette Marence the Mistress of Restoration at the College of Winterhold had been driven out of the temple in… “You mean in Markarth?”

Senna giggled in pure child-like glee. “Of course. Where else did’ja think you were?”

Markarth was in the far west corner of Skyrim. It was more than a month away from Riften and much of the journey through Forsworn territory. “What day is it?”

“Tirdas,” replied the girl before bursting into another giggle. “The fifth of Sun's Height in case you forgot that as well. You really drank yourself stupid, didn’t ’ja?”

Tirdas the fifth? She’d lost an entire day. It had been the night of the third, but there was no way she could have crossed from the far east side of Skyrim to the far west in a single day. Well, there was one way. Teleportation – forbidden and dangerous magic that had once been common. The rules of magic had changed after Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of Domination and Slavery had tried and failed to merge Tamriel with his own domain of Coldharbor in an event known as the Planemeld. Only very powerful mages could teleport now, and few dared. Mages had also learned that teleportation wasn’t quite as instantaneous or safe as they had believed. Teleportation involved taking a short-cut through Oblivion, the realm of the daedra. During that time the teleporting mage was vulnerable to the daedra that inhabited Oblivion. Teleportation risked death, allowing unbound daedra into Tamriel, or even worse, becoming possessed by a daedra. That’s why Teleportation was now forbidden even to the mages strong enough to manage it.

“So… did’ja forget your own name as well, Lady Daenerys Targaryen? Or should I call you the Dragonborn?”

“I know who I am, Senna the Acolyte. You may call me Lady Targaryen.” She was less concerned about what Senna called her than the fact that her story and appearance were well enough known in Markarth that she had been easily recognized. Although it shouldn’t be a surprise. Markarth was about a month’s distance from Whiterun. There had been more than enough time for the story of her defeat of Mir-Mul-Nir to reach Markarth. She needed time to think. “Is there a privy? And I would also like some clothes if you don’t mind.”

“That’s why I’m here, luv. The priestesses wanted to give you time to recover before asking for answers. Over there, behind that screen.”

Daenerys walked behind the screen. She felt the girl’s eyes on her, but she ignored her. She had expected just a chamber pot and was pleased to find a small vanity. There was even a vase of water and scented oils, so she could clean up as well. It wasn’t a tub, but even being able to scrub herself clean was appreciated. Hanging on a hook was a simple linen dress much like what she had worn when she worked at the Sleeping Giant Inn as a tavern wench but without the leather corset. It was sleeveless with thick straps and a plunging neckline. She didn’t like the color, as it was the plain yellow-brown of undyed linen, but she didn’t have another choice.

From the other side of the screen, Senna started singing The Dragonborn Comes. While Daenerys wasn’t fond of that song, she had to admit that Senna had a lovely singing voice. Although she only seemed to know the verses that were in Tamrielic.

She took her time with her ablutions trying to give herself time to think. Not that it helped much. How was she going to get back to the Dragonguard? She had tried to prepare Sofija to lead the Dragonguard, but Sofija was not ready to be in charge yet. Would the Dragonguard follow Sofija? Or fracture and fall apart? Even if she left this moment it would take weeks to reach Riften. Could she ask for aid from the jarl of Markarth? She couldn’t even remember his name. She knew Markarth was an Imperial aligned city. Would they honor the neutrality of the Dragonguard? Hopefully, they didn’t know she had been proclaimed Ysmir, Dragon of the North, yet. However, she couldn’t be certain. The Greybeards had Shouted their proclamation from the Throat of the World, and it had been heard all the way in Riften. That meant it might have been heard in Whiterun as well, and some Nord nobles knew Dovahzul. Even so, word probably hadn’t gotten all the way to Markarth yet.

Her thoughts were derailed by the discovery that she was wearing more than her amulet of Talos. She had a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. The ring was a thick band of gold set with a large ruby. She hadn’t even noticed that she’d been wearing it and she had no idea where it came from. It was also enchanted, but she couldn’t get any details beyond that it was a strong protective enchantment. At least that meant it probably hadn’t done her any harm. She had to use a little of the scented oil to get it off her finger. Then she realized the dress provided for her had no pockets, so she had no place to put the ring. Rather than put it back on, she unhooked her necklace and put the ring on the same chain with her amulet of Talos. She might need to do something about hiding her amulet later, but the priestesses had already seen her wearing it. They knew who she was. They could see it again.

As she brushed out her hair, she realized there was another possible explanation for how she had managed to get from Riften to Markarth. The Breton who had offered her a drink had been named Sam. He had been drunk, and he had led her on a night of drunken debauchery that she couldn’t remember. The Daedric Prince of Debauchery was named Sanguine. Had she slept with a Daedric Prince? Was the ring a gift from him? However, Sam had promised her answers and a staff. He’d also offered to introduce her to someone. She hoped that was the case and she hadn’t slept with a daedra. All things considered, another Daedric Prince meddling in her life seemed far more likely than Sam being an extremely powerful mage crazy enough to risk teleporting her to Markarth. Not that it was an explanation she could share.

Despite taking her time, she had found more questions than answers. Putting her brush down, she went out to face the girl that might answer some of them.

Senna smiled at her. “You cleaned up nicely, luv. Would you like a bite to eat before we’re off to the priestesses?” Senna gestured at a plate with a silver cover dish over it.

“Yes, please,” agreed Daenerys. “I would also appreciate some help braiding my hair.”

“Do ’ja think every Breton girl knows how to do fancy braids?” She laughed. “I’m just funning with ’ja, ’cause I do. Although I’m more used to having my hair braided than doing the braiding. Hmm, how about a waterfall braid? A circle around the crown of your head, and then letting your locks spill through?”

Daenerys thought she knew what the girl meant. It wasn’t exactly her preference, but a change could be good. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Very well, your Ladyship. Let’s just swap places then. I’ll braid ’ja after you eat.”

Daenerys sat down at the seat Senna vacated. She lifted the lid to find a simple cold breakfast of oats and cream with plain water to drink. It was a common enough breakfast among Nords, although those who could afford it would drink ale or mead with their breakfast. Daenerys was glad for their absence. The last thing she wanted was more drink. There was also a small pot with a dab of honey for her oats. That was a luxury most Nords couldn’t afford. Daenerys noted it as a sign that even if some of the wild sex that she couldn’t really remember had taken place on the altar of Dibella, the priestesses were still treating her with respect.

“So,” asked Senna. “Why did’ja take off your wedding ring? I didn’t even know ’ja was married.”

Daenerys had been in the process of taking a sip of water, and almost coughed on it. She kept her composure and swallowed it down. Wedding ring? “This ring?” She tapped the ring now hanging on the necklace with her amulet of Talos. “It’s not a wedding ring. Just enchanted for protection.”

“I know a wedding ring when I see one. Nords don’t often wear one. They’re happy just exchanging troths. It was an Imperial custom first, although we Bretons exchange rings as well. A big golden ring with a large stone on that finger of your left hand? That’s a wedding ring. Trust me, Mara has only a dinky shrine in Markarth, not even a single priestess, so we do most of the weddings. I’ve seen plenty of them. It’s even in even in the vows. ‘With this ring, I thee wed.”

Daenerys couldn’t even remember the face of the man with whom she’d been intimate. If it had been a man and not a daedra. However, if she had said vows, she had said them in a drunken stupor. A drunken promise wasn’t binding. Even Nords made their vows and oaths when sober. They got drunk afterward. “Thank you for informing me. The customs of my homeland are different. The groom removes the cloak of the bride’s family and drapes the cloak of his house over her shoulders. We don’t exchange rings. I’ll be certain not to wear a ring on that finger again.”

“Well, luv, don’t be surprised if one of the priestesses doesn’t bring it up. We all saw the ring on your finger, and we certainly saw the evidence of how much you two enjoyed each other.”

“So how much trouble am I in with the priestesses?” asked Daenerys glad to change the subject.

Senna shrugged. “Now that’s a good question. What ’ja did, if done with permission and at the right time of the month, would even be a Dibellan rite. However, ’ja didn’t have permission. Violating the inner sanctum? You’re double lucky. If ’ja been a man, they probably would have killed you. Dragonborn or no. If ’ja were just a common woman, they wouldn’t have killed ’ja, but ’ja would have been in for a long period of service to the temple. Since you’re a lady and the Dragonborn…” She shrugged. “Maybe ’ja can buy them off with enough septims?”

Daenerys kept a smile on her face and nodded her agreement. “I’m sure we can work out something.” She waved a hand dismissively. She had to appear confident, even though her offense was obviously serious. However, she was distracted by the comment Senna had made about the right time of the month. She wasn’t infertile any longer. That had her frantically trying to remember Masser’s phase and when her fluxes had ended. It had been just before arriving in Riften. Only three days ago, but it seemed far longer. That meant… she probably wasn’t pregnant. Although she wouldn’t know for certain for another three weeks. She would have to obtain a bottle of Dibella’s tears from an alchemist just to be safe. She would not be carrying the child of a man she couldn’t even remember. If her lover had even been a man and a daedra. She was certainly not carrying the child of a daedra.

“Oh, don’t ’ja worry. I’m sure something will be worked out for ’ja. Rank does have its privileges.” Her tone was a little too sweet, like adding honey to tea to hide the bitterness.

Daenerys pushed away her tray. “I’m done, why don’t you tell me about Markarth while you braid my hair?”

Senna shrugged. “Very well, your Ladyship.” She took up position behind Daenerys and started dividing her hair for braiding. “Although, shouldn’t ’ja have found out about Markarth before coming here?”

“Humor me,” said Daenerys. “I want your perspective.”

“Sure, your Ladyship.” She started gently pulling at Daenerys’ hair working it into braids. “Well, there’s not much I can tell ’ja about the politics. Just what everyone knows. Jarl Igmund has declared for the Empire and he has Thalmor advisors in the city. They’re free to arrest anyone they catch worshiping Talos, so ’ja might want to hide that amulet of yours. The Silver-Bloods are the richest clan and they might actually support ’ja. They’re always grumbling about the Thalmor, but I’m sure ’ja already knew all that.”

Actually, she didn’t. Markarth had been so far away she hadn’t worried about it that much, just that it was aligned with the Empire.

“The priestesses could tell ’ja more. Some of them meddle in politics. However, I can tell ’ja that if you’re a Breton in Markarth ’ja keep your head down.” Her tone again had that artificial lightness to it.

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Because Bretons are the descendants of Nords and mer who became civilized, learned proper magic, fought for the Empire, and worship the Aedra. While Reachmen are descendants of Nords and mer who remained savage, live in caves and tribes, learned dark magic, constantly rebelled against the Empire, and worship the Daedra. We are completely different people. I am nothing like them, but we look the same.” She rolled her eyes. “If ’ja overlook their unkempt hair, tattoos, ritual scars, and ill-fitting stinking hides. Even when the differences are obvious, too many Nords treat us the same. Did’ja know about the ‘Markarth Incident’?”

“Yes,” agreed Daenerys. That much she had heard about. However, she hadn’t realized how closely Bretons and Reachmen were related. “During the Great War the Reachmen captured Markarth. They ruled for about two years. Ulfric Stormcloak took back Markarth using the power of the Voice and with a lot of troops. He was promised that Talos worship would be allowed, but that didn’t happen and Ulfric was arrested. The Reachmen that Ulfric didn’t kill fled to the caves and the hills. They call themselves the Forsworn now.” And to the best of her knowledge, the Forsworn were running unchecked through the Reaches and now controlled a large portion of western Skyrim.

“True, but you’re leaving out important parts. At least important parts if you’re a Breton. ’Ja see, when the Reachmen conquered Markarth, they let the Nords live and work in the city. The Reachmen were the rulers, but they were merciful. When Ulfric liberated the city, he put almost every Reachmen to the sword. The few he let live, he sent to work in the mines.”

Daenerys felt the tugs on her hair grow a bit rougher as Senna continued braiding and talking.

“What your little story leaves out is a lot of Bretons got killed as well. Any Breton that couldn’t produce an important Nord to vouch for them was assumed to be a Reachman. Which basically meant only the richest Breton’s lived. My da’s a candle-maker. He was lucky. Being a Breton in Markarth means always dressing your best, always talking proper. Yes, I say did’ja and such. I know it’s not proper Imperial, but it’s solidly Breton. It’s how I was raised. You would think as an acolyte of Dibella that I’d be safe, but I don’t leave the temple much anymore. When I do, I always wear my acolyte dress. I never make animal sounds: barks, growls, or cries. I don’t wear facepaint, even though many Nords do. I don’t think things are so bad that someone would attack a priestess, but I’ve heard of Bretons being lynched in the city. With the recent murders I’ve been staying in the temple, but I worry about my family constantly.”

“What recent murders?” asked Daenerys.

“Did’ja not hear about the murders? It’s about the only thing anyone can talk about. Although, I suppose they’ll talk about ’ja now as well. Lots of people have been turning up dead lately. Merchants, workers, even a few nobs. Sometimes the killers have been caught. Sometimes they get away. When they have been caught, they’ve been Forsworn pretending to be Bretons. My family has lived in Markarth for three generations. Three! But, they stay home and lock their doors at night now. Not that many people are out at night with them enforcing the vagrancy law.”

And that also sounded important. “Vagrancy law?”

“Yeah, vagrancy is against the law here in Markarth. Get caught sleeping on the streets and you could be sent to Cidhna Mines. Used to be the guards had better things to do than roust out beggars. Now with the murders, they’re taking it seriously. If you’re out after night, say even walking home from a tavern, the guard will stop you. If you’re a Nord just walking home, they’ll make sure you get home. If ’ja don’t have a home, ’ja go straight to the silver mines for six months. They say it’s to root out the Forsworn.” She shrugged.

All cities had beggars living in the streets. She’d lived on the streets herself as a child. For that matter she had no money. With the Thalmor in Markarth supported by the jarl she couldn’t use her fame as the Dragonborn. Hopefully, she could work something out that didn’t end up with her getting tossed out on the streets. If worse came to worse, she could sell her new ring, but she felt oddly reluctant to part with it. “Six months of hard labor for being poor? That sounds rather extreme.”

“That’s Markarth. We’re built on blood and silver.” She stepped back. “Your hair’s done. What do ’ja think?”

Daenerys took the mirror she was offered. Tight braids around the top, but her blond hair fell free down the sides. Different, but attractive. “That’s lovely, thank you, Senna.”

“I’m an acolyte of Dibella, beauty is what we do. So, are you ready to face the priestesses?”

Not really, but stalling would only make her look weak and afraid. “Yes, I’m ready.”

When Senna led her outside the chamber in which she had awoken, she discovered that the Dibellans were not trusting fools. Two temple guards stood right outside her door. They were dressed in full armor made from dwemer metal. While dwemer metal wasn’t as hard as steel, it was tougher than mere iron. Dwemer metal made for beautiful armor. It was a color midway between gold and copper, and like gold it neither rusted nor tarnished. The Dibellan guard armor was carved and decorated. Daenerys was amused by the sculpted muscles on the chest and belly as well as the oversized codpieces. She supposed since these men served the Temple of Dibella, they might have been chosen for their looks and the size of their cocks instead of skill at arms. They did wear open-faced helms and their faces were certainly attractive.

As she followed Senna the guards fell in behind her. Daenerys took in as much of the temple as she could. Like her room the stone in the hallways revealed signs of their dwemer origins. However, the origins of the temple were covered up by artwork on display. Statuary, tapestries, and paintings lined the walls. Clearly the temple was both rich and powerful to be able to flaunt this much wealth. Not that golden necklaces and amulets for acolytes and dwemer metal for their guards came cheaply.

However, she had more important things to worry about than admiring the wealth on display. This meeting was important. She was in a weaker position now than she had ever been since she was a novice at the College of Winterhold. She had no followers and no allies with her. She could still Shout or release the werewolf, but she couldn’t overcome an entire city. She needed allies so she could return to the Dragonguard. Since Jarl Igmund had Thalmor advisors, she didn’t have many options. Maybe these Silver-Bloods who supported the Stormcloaks, but her first and best option was convincing the Temple of Dibella to aid her. However, she was going into this audience at a severe disadvantage. She had desecrated their temple, and she could offer no excuse. I was drunk off my ass was an acceptable excuse for most things in Nord society, but it would still get you fined, thrown in jail, and required to pay for damages. Not to mention they’d want to how, when, and why she’d come to Markarth in the first place.

They arrived at a door that was elaborately carved and painted. The two guards took up positions on either side of the door and turned to face her. While their armor was pretty, they still looked imposing.

Senna gave her a smile. “Well now, here we are. Wait here will I go in and announce ’ja.”

“Very well,” agreed Daenerys. It wasn’t like she had a choice.

Senna opened the door just enough to slip through.

Daenerys didn’t see much, but she still caught a glimpse of sunlight and sky, so the door led outdoors. Judging by the artwork on the painted door it led to a garden. She took a moment to look over the painting. It depicted a pastoral orgy. Youthful men and women were depicted copulating in a variety of positions. Mixed among the debauchery were multiple women engaged in artful endeavors. Some were singing, some were playing instruments, and others were weaving or sculpting. The entire scene had been beautifully rendered, but Daenerys found it bewildering. Dibella was a strange goddess. In the Faith of the Seven the Mother had sexual overtones, but in the context of family. The Maiden did represent beauty, but the arts belonged to the Smith. There were gods for everything in Essos, but none quite captured the duality that men expected of women in one deity: beauty and grace mixed with wanton lust. This painting better expressed Dibella than anything she’d heard. Dibella was maiden and lust wrapped up in one goddess.

The doors opened and Senna emerged. “The priestesses will see ’ja now.”


	3. Chapter 3

# Chapter 2

Tirdas, the 5th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Senna led her out to a rooftop garden. The view was spectacular. She knew Markarth was a mountain city and had expected a mountaintop view. Instead she discovered that Markarth lay in a narrow valley surrounded by cliffs. From this rooftop she could see the whole city laid out before her. Four different waterfalls cascaded down from the mountains. The falls fed into two rivers split by a central promontory island of rock. Buildings were carved into the solid rock along the central island and both cliff faces. The entire city was practically a fortress. The view was so spectacular because the temple of Dibella occupied one of two peaks on the central island. If she hadn’t already known the temple was rich and powerful from the artwork displayed, just the location would have said as much.

The view didn’t end with the city. The garden wasn’t quite as amazing as the view, but it was still impressive. A low stone wall covered in honeysuckle vines surrounded the rooftop. The honeysuckle was in full bloom and the sweet scent of the yellow flowers and white flowers filled the air. The rooftop was covered in a grassy lawn split up by many waist-high hedges. If the hedges were taller, it would have been a maze. Since they were low enough to see over, they merely served to divide the lawn into small partially secluded areas. Daenerys noticed that each of the semi-private areas had at least one low chaise lounge and a statue of Dibella. It seemed clear to Daenerys that this garden had been built to host orgies. This place didn’t match what she had previously observed about Nord customs. Nords had a relaxed attitude toward sex before marriage, but when they did couple, they did it in private, or so she had thought. However, the low hedges only gave the illusion of privacy. Anyone standing could easily see over the hedges. For that matter some of the homes carved into the cliff walls could see into this garden. While the distance would be too much for them to make out faces clearly, people could easily watch. 

The Dibelian garden was surprising, but her attention was drawn to a woman standing at the center of the garden. She was clearly a Redguard, dark of skin and darker of hair, but Daenerys was more interested in the braiding. Her hair was divided into many small braids, and then those braids were gathered up like a ponytail to fall down around her shoulders. She had also worked silver beads into the braids which really stood out against her dark hair and skin. While Daenerys had other more important things to worry about, she couldn’t help but wonder who did the priestess’s hair. She was wearing a blue dress trimmed in silver with a plunging neckline that showed a lot of cleavage as well as a golden amulet of Dibella. Oddly, she wore a riding crop attached on a belt the way a warrior would wear a sword.

“Is that the high priestess?” asked Daenerys. While she was an impressive woman, Daenerys was a bit surprised that a Redguard would be the high priestess of a temple in Skyrim. She also seemed too young. She looked to be in her thirties at most.

“No,” replied Senna softly. “That’s Anwen, Mistress of Discipline.”

Mistress of Discipline? Now that was an odd title. Was she responsible for overseeing all the acolytes? Or was she responsible for punishing transgressions within the Temple of Dibella? The riding crop reminded her unpleasantly of the masters of Slaver’s Bay.

“The mother is seated,” added Senna quietly.

As they drew closer to the center, Daenerys spotted the mother. She looked more grandmotherly than matronly. She was a Nord woman with blonde hair turning to silver. She reclined back upon one of the low chaise lounges, one arm along the back, her legs resting on the cushions one crossed over the other. Her dress was of the same shade of blue as the other priestess, but hers was trimmed in gold. The neckline on her dress was higher, and she wore her amulet on top of her dress. Despite being sprawled upon her side, there was nothing lazy about her appearance. As Daenerys studied her, the priestess studied her back in return.

Senna bowed deeply to the two women. “As you asked, I have brought Lady Targaryen to you.”

“Thank you, Senna,” replied Anwen, the Mistress of Discipline. She had a firm voice and spoke like one who was used to being obeyed. “Please, take your place.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Senna bowed again and moved to take up position at the foot of the chaise lounge. She turned so she stood beside the the Redguard and faced Daenerys.

For a moment there was silence as they regarded each other. Daenerys wondered if the selection of priestess was intentional. She was reminded of the Faith of the Seven in Westeros. The female aspects were Maiden, Mother, and Crone. That corresponded quite well with the three women who faced her. Senna as the Maiden, Anwen the stern Mother, and the reclining high priestess as the Crone. Coincidence? Or symbolism? She was also aware that the two guards that had escorted her hadn’t gone away. She had deliberately avoided looking back at them, but she knew that two armed and armored men stood behind her back.

Anwen broke the silence. “Now, Lady Targaryen. Explain why you desecrated our temple.”

“I wish I knew.” She met Anwen’s gaze. The woman was strong and forceful, but after facing down dragons and Daedric Princes, no mere priestess was that intimidating. “I don’t remember much from last night.”

“Told ’ja,” said Senna with a giggle. “I think we’ve all been there a time or four.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Anwen. “Well then, Lady Targaryen, what do you remember?”

“I recall almost nothing, and what little I do recall is drunken nonsense. I distinctly remember talking monkeys wearing clothes.” And the pig. Something about the pig had seemed hysterically funny at the time.

The Mistress of Discipline frowned. “What about your lover? Who was he? Where did he escape to?”

“I don’t know. I already said that I don’t remember.” Thinking about him was embarrassing. She did not just jump into bed with any man, but this time she had. She sighed. “I can’t see a face. I just have an impression of his presence. He was strong, powerful…” Dangerous. She remembered the feel of his mouth on her body. “… clean-shaven. But I cannot see his face…” She shook her head. She hadn’t been raped. She had been willing. She distinctly remembered being on top and setting the pace somewhere in there. Despite feeling ashamed at herself, she was glad they hadn’t caught him.

“Is it a habit of yours to sleep with men you don’t know?” demanded Anwen.

“Is it a habit of yours?” countered Daenerys. She was ashamed enough already. She didn’t need hypocritical judgments from a priestess of Dibella. She waved at the garden. “It’s pretty obvious what takes place in this garden.”

“Watch your tongue,” snapped back the Redguard woman as her hand drifted to her riding crop. “You are here to answer for your crimes.”

Daenerys considered threatening the woman back. She had tried being civil, but she was getting tired of being blamed for something she didn’t remember. Nord customs called for making amends for accidents and crimes while drunk, but there was a tolerant and amused attitude toward the crimes themselves. Perhaps Redguards did not feel the same? She was half tempted to show Anwen just what a Tongue could do. However, she still had two armed men behind her, and all of these priestesses probably had some talent for magic. She could Shout one of them off the rooftop, but she wouldn’t live long afterward. Besides, she liked Senna. More importantly this was all a posturing game. “You want me to answer for my crimes? Very well. I do not remember what I did, but I apologize. I also own my mistakes. Even though I was drunk, I will make amends.” Daenerys looked away from the Mistress of Discipline and locked gazes with the high priestess. “What would you have me do?”

The reclining priestess nodded her head as if she approved. “We will get to that in a little bit. However, you can start by cooperating more. Even if you don’t remember your lover, you can tell us what you are doing in Markarth. I sent some girls to the market to catch up on the latest gossip. The last we heard the Dragonborn left Whiterun on a pilgrimage to see the Greybeards. It’s a long way from the Throat of the World to Markarth.”

“I’m not entirely certain. I took the Dragonguard south to the Throat of the World and met with the Greybeards. They acknowledged me as the Dragonborn and proclaimed me as Ysmir, Dragon of the North.” A dangerous title, but one that would soon be known in Markarth if it wasn’t already. “Then we went to Riften. The last I recall, I was in Riften, two days ago. I don’t know how I got here.”

“That’s it?” scoffed Anwen. “You don’t know?”

Daenerys kept her eyes focused on the high priestess, but she did answer the question. “That’s right. I’ll answer your questions, but I don’t know how I came hundreds of leagues in one day. Can you explain it?”

“Mother, Anwen, I believe her blackout was genuine,” said Senna. “I was with her when she awoke. She had no clue where she was. Perhaps a better question would be what is the last thing she does remember.”

Daenerys was a bit surprised Senna spoke up at this meeting. Senna was just an acolyte, wasn’t she? Regardless, Daenerys appreciated her speaking up. She gave Senna a nod and a polite smile. “The last that I remember was attending a celebration in Riften. We had killed another dragon and helped overthrow the Thieves’ Guild. We also helped discover a plot against the jarl of Riften. The entire city was celebrating. The last that I remembered was drinking ale with a man named Sam. After that I don’t remember anything clearly until I woke up here in Markarth.”

“Nothing clearly,” asked Anwen sharply. “But you do remember some things?”

Daenerys gave a long sigh of frustration. “Are we going to keep going in circles? I’ve already shared everything I know.”

“Very well,” said the high priestess with a nod of her head. “You have guesses, don’t you?”

“No good guesses. I suppose it’s possible that I ran into a mage who was both powerful and crazy enough to cast teleport, but that doesn’t seem likely.”

The high priestess shook her head. “Highly unlikely. The Psijic Order may be interested in you because you are the Dragonborn, and perhaps the Thalmor, but they wouldn’t have gotten you drunk. No, there is one likely answer from the clues. Drunkness. Debauchery. Your last memory a revel. I think there is a far more likely candidate.”

“Sanguine,” said Arwen suspiciously. “So, you were consorting with a Daedric Prince?”

“I don’t think so?” Could her mystery man be Sanguine? She didn’t think so. She had a vague impression of a man laughing his ass off while she made a fool of herself. That seemed like Sanguine, but her lover had been someone else. “I don’t know? I can’t explain it, but I’m not a Daedra worshiper. I follow Talos.” She placed her hand on her amulet for emphasis.

“She did invoke Talos,” agreed Senna. “Even before she was sober. The first thing she did was grab her amulet and call upon his name for healing.”

“Like Talos is any better,” said Anwen. “There are Thalmor agents here in Markarth. Our jarl counts them among his trusted advisors. Just by sheltering her we risk drawing the wrath of the Thalmor and doing untold damage to our reputation in Markarth.”

“Do you think Dibella cares about the Thalmor?” asked Senna. “Lady Targaryen is right. We’re going in circles. Why are we debating this? She’s the one.”

“Senna!” Anwen said her name like the crack of a whip. “Silence.”

The high priestess pushed herself to her feet. “Anwen, let her be. Senna is impulsive and young, but she is not wrong. Daenerys Targaryen is the one.” The woman walked forward. “So, you said that your own your mistakes. You offered to make amends. We have a task for you. Dibella has chosen a new Sybil. Through the Protocol, we have seen her. She dwells to the north, in the small village of Karthwasten. Her family is strong in stone. They will be masons or miners. She is also endangered. A shadow we cannot see looms over her. You will travel to Karthwasten, retrieve our young Sybil, and bring her home to us. Only then will your transgression be forgiven.”

When Daenerys had arrived in Whiterun after defeating Mir-Mul-Nir, she had been bombarded with requests for help: recover a missing sword, help me get a mammoth tusk, and others. Nord stories, songs, and legends were full of heroic quests. For the most part, Daenerys had ignored the requests, but this was not something she could turn down. She had promised to make amends. The Temple of Dibella was obviously wealthy and powerful. She did not want them as an enemy.

However, that didn’t mean she didn’t have questions. “Why me? You have temple guards and are wealthy enough to hire mercenaries if you need extra muscle, but you’re asking me instead.”

There was a long pause before the High Priestess spoke. “Dibella wills it. We don’t hear her voice like a Sybil does, but the previous Sybil left us some guidance. Dibella wants you.”

Daenerys felt like laughing. It wasn’t funny. She did not want Dibella as an enemy. The gods of Tamriel were much more involved than the gods of Planetos. However, it meant all of this had been for show. They were always going to ask her to fetch this Sybil for them. “Very well, I will find your Sybil and return her safely to you.”

“Thank you,” said the high priestess. “May Dibella guide your path.”

“Goddess watch over you,” added Anwen.

“Wait!” interrupted Daenerys before Senna could join in, and they blessed her out the door. “I said that I’ll go, but all I have is this dress and a pair of sandals. I’m not walking from here to Karthwasten without weapons and armor. Preferably with a horse and a companion or two.” The wilderness of eastern Skyrim had been dangerous enough. In the Reach they didn’t just have bandits. The Forsworn were running wild across the countryside.

The high priestess shook her head. “No, it would not be atonement if we outfitted you with weapons and armor. The task is yours, Lady Targaryen.”

Daenerys was reminded of Tyrion Lannister. Everyone had told her how bright Tyrion was, but for a highly intelligent man, his plans had failed again and again. Priestesses were supposed to be wise, but this was folly. “So, that’s all part of the trial? Not even a helmet so I can hide my hair? Do you think I’ll make it out of the city before I’m recognized and the Thalmor arrest me? What will happen to your Sybil then?”

“Perhaps,” suggested Senna. “We could offer some proper Dibellan help. I’m sure the goddess wouldn’t mind if we helped by dying your hair. Perhaps in a simple bun and some makeup to look more matronly. Your eyes are distinctive, but not easily noticed from a distance, and I have an idea for them as well. No one would look too closely at someone leaving the city.”

“You know that I will have to return to Markarth with the Sybil? Provided that I don’t get killed wandering around the countryside without weapons or armor.”

“Lady Targaryen, your complaining is unseemly. It would not be a trial if it were easy. I will allow Senna’s suggestion. She can help disguise yourself, so you are not so recognizable. The rest is up to you.”

Daenerys dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Very well, I accept.” Not like she had any choice. Besides, she had accepted her destiny as Dragonborn, and she believed in Talos. The gods were more real in Tamriel and having Dibella as an enemy was not a good idea.

.oOo.

Daenerys followed Senna back to the room where she had awakened that morning. Not surprisingly the temple guards followed behind them. She waited until they were alone to question what happened. She did not like being set up. “You seemed rather forward for a mere acolyte, smarting off to the high priestess.”

Senna shrugged. “I am just an acolyte and below the others in many ways, but we are not a rigid hierarchy. I was here waiting on you because I wanted to be. I want to help ’ja, because that is what Dibella wants. So, do’ja want my help?”

Daenerys frowned in frustration. Dibella seemed rather arbitrary about this trial. No weapons, no armor, not really much of anything. However, she had agreed to atone, and she certainly wasn’t going to turn down the little help she’d been offered. “Yes, I want your help.”

“Good. Now, let’s talk about your hair.” 

Senna offered Daenerys a variety of choices in hair dye. She recommended that brown or red would look more Breton. Some dyes would wash out in days. Others were permanent and had to be grown out. The best dyes used alchemy. After listening to the choices, Daenerys decided on a potion for brunette hair. Brown being the most common color of hair, she would stand out the least. The potion had to be applied directly to her hair. The color would hold true for a week but would fade quickly after that returning her hair to its natural blonde. As far as Daenerys was concerned that was better than a dye that would leave her hair stained. Senna left briefly, returned with a potion, and then helped her apply it. Senna had her lay back in a chair with towels to cover her and let her hair fall behind her.

“I heard ’ja studied magic at the College of Winterhold. Is that true?” asked Senna as she massaged the potion into her hair.

Daenerys found the scalp massage she was receiving to be relaxing, even if she was a little conflicted about dying her hair. At least it was only for a week. “That’s true. I did.”

“Did ’ja study any Alchemy? Because this is a simple potion. Even I can manage it. Just pine bark and common brown moth wings.”

“No, the Master of Alchemy position at the College of Winterhold is currently vacant.” According to Faralda it was because Archmage Savos Aren considered Alchemy to be a trade and not a true magical art. Although the fact that he wasn’t very good at Alchemy might have contributed. “I know it works different from spells, but not how.”

Senna continued working the potion into her hair, moving down her long tresses. “That’s true. ’Ja don’t have to be able to touch your own magicka to make a potion. There is magic in everything. Just mixing them can make a potion. Of course, the best alchemists add their own, picking and choosing which properties to enhance. What makes Alchemy different, is you have to know the properties of things. Brown is a very easy property. Just about anyone could make this potion.”

Daenerys filed that information for later use. “So, just grind up brown moth wings and pine bark into a fine powder with a mortar and pestle while focusing upon the brownness of it, then mix with clean water?” That was about all her knowledge of Alchemy covered. Supposedly just about anyone could follow basic Alchemy recipes.

“Right you are, luv.” She laughed. “Of course, there’s a lot more to it if ’ja to move beyond simples. A lot of the best reagents are also poison if you mix them wrong, and like I said the best alchemists do infuse their own magic to strengthen the potion.” She removed her hands, and wiped them clean on a towel. “And done. What do ’ja think?” She offered Daenerys a mirror.

Daenerys looked at her hair and ignored that it was wet and tangled. “It’s brown.” Even her eyebrows were brown. She didn’t like it. Despite the reputation of her House, she was proud of her hair because it was a mark of her Targaryen heritage, but as a disguise it worked. “It’s does change my appearance.”

“That it does, luv. Now, let’s see if we can do something about your eyes.”

Daenerys didn’t see how they could change the color of her eyes without another potion, but Senna had another idea, facepaint. She painted a horizontal stripe of red across her eyes. Daenerys was surprised by the result. The red of the facepaint made her eyes look grey instead of purple. Not completely, but she could hardly recognize herself in the mirror.

“Thank you, Senna. This will help me avoid being noticed, but… You said that you avoid facepaint when you venture into Markarth, so you look like a Breton instead of a Reachman. Reachwoman?”

“Reachman, Reacherwoman, or just Reachers. It’s just a little paint. Reachers mostly wear more elaborate facepaint and usually with an animal theme. I can take it off, but I think it helps hide your eyes.”

“It does, and with the Thalmor in Markarth that is more important. I need to hide. Speaking of which…” She glanced at where her amulet of Talos lay upon the table. The priestesses of Dibella had already known who she was. Flaunting her amulet of Talos had been a statement. Wearing out of the temple and into the streets in a city where the Thalmor had free reign would be stupid. “I know that I arrived naked, and I appreciate having something to wear, but do you have another dress? Preferably something with a high neck and a kirtle?”

Most Nord women wore dresses that consisted of three pieces: a smock underneath, a kirtle over it, and optionally a corset over that to narrow the waist and emphasize the bust. The dress she was wearing now was just a smock supported by two straps it didn’t even have sleeves. It showed a lot of cleavage. Too much, in fact. She hadn’t worried about it before, because… she hadn’t really thought it through. She’d been playing catch up ever since she awoke. In Essos the dress she was wearing would be considered tame, but in Skyrim it was daring. It was the dress that a tavern wench or a whore would wear. There was a fine line between the two. When she’d been working at the Sleeping Giant Inn, she’d covered up with a cloak outside the tavern.

Senna sighed. “I’m sorry, luv. You’re lucky we even had the dress you’re wearing now. We’re not a merchant’s shop. This was all we could scrounge up unless ’ja fancy wearing a pair of men’s breeches.”

“No, I don’t fancy a pair of men’s breeches.” It was difficult not to snap at Senna. Maybe the dress she was now wearing had been all they had on hand, but sending someone to buy a cheap dress would be trivial. The temple could obviously afford it. Or, they could let her wear an acolyte’s dress like Senna. This dress was obviously another part of her trial. She was beginning to wonder if Dibella was trying to teach her some kind of lesson in humility. “If you don’t have a dress, could I at least have a beltpouch or a purse? I don’t think it is a good idea to flaunt my amulet of Talos outside the temple.”

“Oh?” she asked with fake innocence. “It didn’t bother ’ja to wear it in front of the priestess.”

“They already knew, and I wasn’t hiding from them. I will need to hide my amulet from the Thalmor and maybe the Markarth guards as well.”

“Oh, for certain from the guards as well. Your amulet and your not-a-wedding ring both. I’ll give ’ja my own beltpouch. I can always buy another, but ’ja shouldn’t take them with you. Not looking like ’ja do now. Don’t forget ’ja look like a Breton now with your height and your hair. The way you’re dressed ’ja look like, well… a whore. The Markarth guards won’t hesitate to stop and search you just because. If they find that amulet or that ring they’ll send ’ja to the mines at best. They might turn ’ja over to the Thalmor. I hear they like to make examples of Talos worshipers.”

Daenerys sighed. She had expected as much, which was why she asked for a proper Nord dress with a kirtle. “Can I leave my amulet with you? I plan to be in the city for a few days. I don’t know what the priestesses were thinking, but I’m not leaving Markarth without at least a weapon and some armor.”

“That’s probably wise of ’ja. Just the amulet? If they catch ’ja with that ring, they’ll call you a thief.”

“The ring too, I suppose.” Daenerys removed her necklace and handed the amulet and her ring to Senna. “The amulet was given to me by someone dear to my heart. Take care of it for me.”

“Oh-ho, the amulet came from someone dear, but what about that ring?” Senna tucked them away in her beltpouch before holding up her hand. “I was just funning wit ’ja. As Dibella is my witness, I will keep them safe until you return to reclaim them.”

Daenerys nodded in approval. She couldn’t ask for a stronger oath from a priestess. “Thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

“It’s not much. It was even fun to put my beauty skills to work at something different. I can’t give ’ja any more direct help, but I could offer a few suggestions about Markarth.”

Daenerys nodded. “I’m listening.”

“You’re right about it not being safe to wander the Reaches unarmed. The Forsworn are becoming more and more bold. So, when ’ja was studying at the College of Winterhold did ’ja learn any spells? Or can you only Shout?”

“I have reached apprentice level Destruction magic: Firebolt, Ice Spike, and Lightning Bolt. Plus, I can heal. I’m not sure where I stand at Restoration magic any longer. I was at novice level when I left the College of Winterhold, but since I embraced Talos my healing has improved.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s better than I thought. Well, I hear a lot working at the temple. I know two people who might want to hire a mage. There is a Vigilant of Stendarr in Markarth. He was here at the temple yesterday asking for help rooting out daedric influences. He might be willing to pay you. He’s staying at the Silver Blood Inn near the main gate.”

“I will certainly consider him.” Stendarr was the god of mercy, justice, and many other things. She had heard of the order of Vigilants of Stendarr. They were basically wandering knights who sought and destroyed daedra, vampires, witches, and other evil creatures. They were one of the reasons she tried to keep her dealings with Daedric Princes quiet. While they might oppose her if they knew of her deals, she supported their mission. She understood they did a lot of good. Given how far Markarth was from the Rift, this Vigilant had no way of knowing about her deal with Barbas. “What was the second suggestion?”

“His name is Eltrys. He’s Breton and he’s fed up with all the murders. He thinks there is more to it than just the Forsworn. He has been running around the city poking his nose into things. He might want a bodyguard and he could afford it. Of course, he might attract attention doing it.” She shrugged. “Maybe that isn’t a good lead, but I’d like to have answers as well because of my family.”

“Of course, you would,” agreed Daenerys. Although she agreed poking her nose into things sounded like a way to draw the wrong sort of attention. That would make him her second choice. “Where can I find him?”

“You can find him at the smelters. He works there as an overseer. You can just follow the rivers down to the smelter. He shouldn’t be hard to find. At the very least he could probably help ’ja get a place to sleep in the Warrens. That’s where the men who work the smelter sleep. It’s falling down, but it’s cheap and better than getting swept up by the guard for vagrancy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” If things weren’t bad enough, she also had to find a place to sleep before nightfall, and she had no money. She wanted to protest the fairness of this trial again. Even with the little help that Senna was providing, she was starting from nothing. She kept a reign on her frustration and politely asked, “Is there a purpose to this trial? To stripping me down to nothing?”

Senna grasped her amulet and closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them again. “There is, not that I understand it any longer. Not since I stepped down.”

Stepped down? Did that mean what she thought it did? “Senna? Did you used to be the Sybil?”

Senna’s smile vanished and was replaced by a wistful look. “I was, once, but now I am not any longer.” She sighed and shrugged. “I was long overdue to step down. Sybils are chosen as children, while we’re pure and innocent, but Dibella is the goddess of sex. There is only so long you can remain a child. There are compensations…” She gave a saucy wink. “Still, it was nice. I don’t know what all Dibella has planned for ’ja. I wasn’t even certain ’ja were the one at first, but after talking to ’ja, I was certain.”

“I see… No, actually I don’t. I’m not even sure what a Sybil is to be honest. I’m an outlander and I never heard the word before today.”

Senna laughed. “Most gods have prophets of some sort of another. Dibella always chooses young girls, and they are called Sybils. Not every temple has one, but Markarth has for several generations. Being a Sybil, is like having an imaginary friend who happens to be a goddess. However, this isn’t about me. It’s partly about ’ja, but it’s also about a little girl. I think you are wise to acquire weapons and armor before setting forth, but don’t lose sight of the goal. The Sybil is just a little girl. She’ll be remarkably innocent of the ways of the world, and I fear she will be in some danger. This is your trial, but she needs to be brought back here, to the temple. We will keep her safe and care for her.”

Daenerys nodded formally. “I understand. I was a lost little girl once.”

Senna smiled. “Perhaps, that’s why Dibella chose ’ja. I’ll pray for ’ja. Go in peace, Lady Targaryen. May Dibella, Talos, and the rest of the Nine watch over ’ja.”


	4. Chapter 4

# Chapter 3

Tirdas, the 5th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

The city of Markarth was as impressive from the streets as it had been from the rooftop garden of the Temple of Dibella. It was the cleanest city she’d ever visited. The rivers were contained in canals, but they flowed pure and swift through the city. The buildings still showed the stamp of their Dwemer origins. While the Dwemer people had vanished long ago never to return, in Markarth their craftsmanship lived on.

The people of Markarth did not live up to the beauty of their city. From the moment she left the Temple of Dibella, she could feel people watching her. Most of them stared at her with hostility, but a few men leered at her while clearly undressing her with their eyes. Status was both social armor and weapon. When you had status, you didn’t need to bluster. Because she was the Dragonborn, she had been able to just ignore Hemming Black-Briar’s empty threats. In Markarth everyone else was armed and she was vulnerable. She felt judgment in almost every stare. Senna had warned her that Bretons were under suspicion, but she had underestimated how bad it was. Her clothing only made it worse. When people looked at her, they saw a beggar, more likely a whore, and also a potential thief and spy. Because she was short and female, they didn’t see a Forsworn assassin, but she was not a Nord, and she was not welcome in Markarth.

As she approached the city gates, the streets widened and opened out into a plaza. However, the foot traffic also increased as many merchants were doing business out of small carts in addition to the people going in and out of the buildings surrounding the plaza. She felt safer and less noticeable in the crowd, so naturally that was when she was stopped by the Markarth Guard.

“You! What are you doing here?”

Daenerys turned slowly to face the shout and saw two of the Markarth Guards. They were dressed identically in chainmail with round shields bearing the ram’s head of Markarth in white on a green field. They wore full helmets which made them look intimidating. In Riften she had been able to make the city guards step aside just by her reputation. She couldn’t do that here. She dipped her head low, even going as far as to press her knuckles to her forehead. “I’m looking for work, sir.”

“You’re looking for work here? The only work for you would be on your knees or on your back.”

She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see her glare. She wanted to hit him, or Shout at him, or verbally flay him. As the Dragonborn she could cut a man like this down with a few well-placed words. However, she looked like a Breton beggar or whore while he was a soldier with the entire Markarth Guard to back him. She stared at the ground and took a breath before she replied meekly. “Yes, sir. On my knees. I heard they need someone to scrub floors at the Silver-Blood Inn.”

One of the guards found that funny and laughed. “Scrubbing floors is it? Dressed like that? Show me your hands.”

Daenerys complied even though she knew that her hands would make it obvious that she was lying. She didn’t have the cracked and chapped hands of a woman who scrubbed floors. Her hands had toughened some from weapons training, but only on her palms and not that obviously. She knew what they saw. A liar and a whore.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You can go ‘work’ at the Silver Blood Inn.”

Daenerys kept her eyes down, but she saw the shadow of his arm point off to the left. “Thank you, sir.” She lowered her hands to her sides and kept them loose and open despite her desire to clench them into fists. These men would be all too likely to try to make her pay for even the smallest act of defiance.

“Wait,” said the other. “You’re new here.” He reached out and took hold of her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Well there, you’re quite pretty.”

Quite pretty? That’s all? Perhaps it was vain, but beauty was one of her weapons and she knew how to wield it. At least she knew how to wield it in most situations. However, she had no intent to seduce this man, and haughty airs would either get her smacked down or make these guards suspicious.

“Except for the mer eyes. I bet you had a mer father didn’t you, girl?”

She looked down as if ashamed and muttered, “I don’t know who my father is sir.”

The guard laughed. “Of course, you don’t. I’m sure you’ll be a good earner anyway, even with the eyes. Since you’re new, let me explain the rules. No lollygagging around the plaza. You keep your work in the inn. No working in the alleys either. Not even at night. If we catch you with a hand in anyone’s pocket, we’ll cut it off. Oh, and we’ll stop by the Silver-Blood Inn when our watch is done so you can thank us properly.”

She could kill him with just three Words. No, it would only take one Word. She had Shouted the head off Thaena during their duel in Winterhold, and this guard was standing even closer. However, she kept her gaze down. She could kill him, but not the entire Markarth Guard. She forced the words out, “Yes, sir.”

He laughed. “You have some pride left, don’t you? You’ll get used to swallowing it and other things.” He released her chin. “Go on, run along little whore.”

She had walked to her wedding to Khal Drogo knowing he was a savage. She had walked into his funeral fire. She had walked up to Drogon when she’d found him, even though he had grown wild. She could walk away from this man and not kill him. It was difficult, but she stared at her feet and walked in the direction he pointed. It was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to shout curses at him, Dibella, and her priestesses. She included Senna in that. The priestess had tried to warn her, but her warning hadn’t been near strong enough. As her anger cooled, Daenerys realized she was being unfair. Senna was a priestess of Dibella and until recently had been the Sybil. While Senna had known Bretons were mistreated in Markarth, Senna had lived a sheltered life. Even the other priestesses were just following Dibella’s will. No, she would save her curses for the guards.

Daenerys reached the building and looked up at the sign. From up close she could just make out the sign: a hammer crossed with a pick both of them dripping blood. This had to be the Silver-Blood Inn. She opened the door and walked inside.

The Silver-Blood Inn was huge as inns go and built more like a temple with a large main room and a high arched ceiling. The walls were carved with Dwemer markings so it was doubtful that it had been originally intended to be used as an inn. The place had a seedy look to it. Perhaps because the narrow windows admitted little light. The tables scattered around the room were all in shadows. Only the bar at the center of the room was well-lit because there was a chandelier above it with six candles burning even though the sun was still up.

A bored man tending the bar looked up at her as she entered. His head was bald on top, but long grey hair grew from the sides of his head and fell down about his shoulders. He looked at her with a frown. “We don’t need a tavern wench. I already have a wife. I don’t need to pay someone else to yell at me to pour the drinks and mend the roof.”

“About that,” came the voice of a woman from the darkness. “When are you going to fix that leak, Kleppr?”

“Woman, what are you getting onto me about? The roof’s not leaking.”

“It’s not leaking now, but it will the next time it rains.” A woman stomped out of the darkness, she looked to be the same age as the man tending bar by her grey hair. From the tired familiarity of their bickering they had to be husband and wife. The woman shook her head in exaggerated dismay.

“Well, I can’t fix it while it’s raining, now can I?” He rolled his eyes and shrugged. He winked at her. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing, just a little leak. We can put down a bucket to catch the drip.”

“Kleppir, it’s a little leak now, but it will get worse come winter. Do you want to be up there fixing it when there is ice on the roof?”

“Well, Frabbi, I can’t fix it now, we have a customer,” said the man now identified as Kleppir.

Daenerys smiled at that, even as she got the feeling that underneath the bickering there was a lot of love between the two of them. Maybe she was wrong, but it felt like this bickering was an act. They were speaking far louder than necessary unless they were both hard of hearing. Perhaps it was a deliberate show to entertain their guests. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that there were indeed guests in the room, drinking at the tables in the shadows.

“A customer?” Frabbi looked Daenerys up and down. “She doesn’t look like she could afford water.”

“We don’t charge for water, Frabbi. It’s on the house.”

“I know.” Frabbi rolled her eyes. “Men.” Then she sighed loudly and dramatically before lowering her voice. “Now, what can I do for you, dearie? I have a guess, but are you here for a room, a drink, or a meal?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m looking for honest work. I’m not a whore.” It shamed her that she even had to say that. “I’ve heard there is a Vigilant of Stendarr staying here and he was looking for some help.”

“Oh dearie, he is looking for some help confronting what he thinks is a daedra manifestation. He needs dangerous men.”

Daenerys was tired of being judged by her looks. “I can hold my own in a fight.” She stretched out her hand and channeled a little bit of magic so that fire danced in her palm.

“Put that out!” snapped Frabbi.

Daenerys put out the fire with a showy and unnecessary clench of her first.

“So, you’re a mage.” Frabbi made mage sound like it was a contagious disease. “Well, you’re in luck. He’s over at that table eating his lunch. He’s a priest. Not sure he’ll want anything to do with one of your kind, but you can ask.”

“Thank you.” She gave the woman a slight nod and walked off in the indicated direction. She wondered at the odd lighting. Why keep the bar well-lit, but leave the rest shadowed? Was this the hangout of thieves like the Ragged Flagon? She pushed those thoughts aside to consider the man sitting at the table.

He was wearing robes and halfway through eating some kind of meat pie. He was also watching her carefully. “Well, are you just going to stare at me? Or are you going to sit down?”

Daenerys hurriedly sat in the other chair. She had expected that Vigilants of Stendarr were armor-wearing knights and not priests. Maybe he simply didn’t wear his armor when he wasn’t expecting a fight? He did have a mace hanging from his belt, but his robes would be poor protection against a daedra or a vampire. As her eyes adjusted she noticed something else that gave her hope. He was clean-shaven, head and face both, and he looked to be an Imperial. That was a good sign. Imperials were much more accepting of magic and mages than Nords. “I’ve been told you’re looking for some help to root out daedric influences. I need work, and I can handle myself in a fight.”

“Can you?” he asked. “I saw your little flame trick. What can you do?”

“Destruction mostly: Firebolt, Ice Spike, and Lightning Bolt. I can heal as well.”

Hmm. He took a bite of meat pie and chewed it. “What’s your story? I don’t recognize your accent.”

“Because I grew up all over,” lied Daenerys. “My father was a traveling merchant. He wanted me to take over the business someday, but I wanted to learn magic.”

“So, why didn’t you? You seem to have a bit of talent. You’re a little old, but the College of Winterhold would still take you.”

Daenerys didn’t like lying to him, so she opted for a half-truth. “Can I just say there was a man involved and I made a fool of myself with him? He left me with nothing. I mean that literally. This dress is all I have left.”

“Ah.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Love makes fools of us all. I shouldn’t laugh. Couldn’t you at least complain to the guard?”

“No, because he grew up in Markarth and I’m a Breton.” So much for half-truths. “Who am I going to complain to?”

“Who indeed?” agreed the man. “You ever fought a daedra before?”

“No, but I’ve been helping guard caravans for years. I’ve fought wolves, spiders, and bandits. Never by myself, but I know my way around a fight.”

“Hmm.” He ate a bit of his pie. “Hmm,” he repeated. He took another bite and chewed it slowly. Then he washed it down with some ale. “I’d have you demonstrate, but there isn’t any place in the city that would be happy with you flinging spells around. I saw you do fire. Show me cold and electricity. Keep it small.”

Daenerys smiled. She had him. “Very well.” She held a hand and channeled a bit of frost. She clenched her fist, opened it, and then made sparks dance in her hand.

“Hmm, I suppose you’ll do. There is a house in town. It has an evil aura to it. I believe it might have been used for Daedra worship. Evil rites and so forth. Nobody goes in. Nobody goes out. I’ve tried talking to people. Pleasant conversation, friendly as can be. I ask about that house, and they clam up. They don’t know anything, and suddenly they have somewhere else they need to be.”

Daenerys wondered if there was simply nothing wrong with the house and the vigilant was frightening everyone away with his questions. However, he was a Vigilant of Stendarr. Presumably, he knew what he was talking about. If nothing else, she would learn the location of an abandoned house. She might need to use it as a place to sleep until she could afford a room in an inn. “How much does it pay?”

“Hmm.” He took the last bite of his pie. “If it turns out to be nothing, I’ll buy you a proper dress, a meal, and a room for the night. If we have to fight daedra, twenty septims.”

That was actually a generous offer for one day of mercenary work, but it wouldn’t even buy her a decent weapon. “Thirty septims, an equal share of the spoils, and you have to tell me your name.”

He laughed. “My name is Tyranus.”

Daenerys blinked. “You’re joking.” Even though she wasn’t a native speaker of Tamrielic, she knew that his name shared the same root as tyrant and tyranny.

“I’m not. My father thought it sounded impressive. Just call me Vigilant. Vigilant Tyr if you must. I’ll give you twenty-five septims, a share of the spoils, and you have to tell me your name.”

“Danyen,” said Daenerys making up a name on the spot. “Buy me lunch and loan me a weapon so I’m not going in hungry and totally unarmed, and we have a deal.”

“Agreed,” said Vigilant Tyr.

The meat pie he bought her was actually quite good. She turned down the ale he offered and drank water instead. She had absolutely no desire for any form of drink, even something as tame as ale. While she ate, she asked him a little about what he had seen and killed as a Vigilant of Stendarr. She had been expecting tales of fighting dremora, vampires, and Daedra worshipers. However, Vigilant Tyr claimed most daedric incursions were actually minor daedra like scamps, daedrats, atronachs, and skeletons. The worst that he’d ever faced personally had been a vampire and he’d had two fellow vigilants with him at the time.

She also learned that very few of the Vigilants of Stendarr were knights. Most were priests like Tyr who fought with spell and faith, not armor and weapons. That made her question their sanity. Faith in the gods was all well and good. Her own faith in Talos kept growing stronger, but if you were in the business of killing monsters it made sense to at least wear armor. When the weapon he offered her turned out to be a simple dagger, she seriously considered backing out of this deal. However, she had already eaten the food he provided and given her word. They could both cast spells and heal, so they should be able to manage a minor daedra. It wasn’t like she had a lot of other options.

They passed another pair of Markarth guards on their way to the house that Tyr wanted to investigate. She was pretty sure that the guards would have stopped her had she been alone. For all she knew they were the same two guards as before. However, they just looked at her and Tyr and walked on past.

The house was on the lower level of Markarth by the canal. Like every other house she had seen, it had been originally carved from the rock by the Dwemer. As they grew closer, she felt something. She wasn’t as sensitive to magic as a mer, but something about the place was off. “I see why you’re suspicious of this place. The feel of it reminds me a little of a Nord barrow.”

Vigilant Tyr frowned. “You’ve been inside a Nord barrow?”

“No, but I've seen a barrow from the outside. There’s one inside the town of Ivarstead in the Rift.” More lies, but she was in no position to tell the truth. “Are you sure no one is home?”

“I’ve watched the house for some time. No one enters. No one leaves. I’ve asked questions. They say it’s abandoned and has always been abandoned, but you can just feel the evil here. It’s good to have someone watch my back. Follow me and keep your eyes open. Even lesser Daedra are powerful creatures and tricksters. Never know what you'll find.” He opened the door and walked inside.

The door opened into a large room. The home was obviously not abandoned. There was a fire burning in the hearth. There were no windows, but multiple candles were lit and provided more than enough light to see clearly. There were herbs drying over the fire, cheese wedges stacked up, and two freshly caught rabbits sitting out. The room was larger than the home of many Nord families, but seemed to be set up as a kitchen. A table was set up for the preparation of food, and something was cooking in the kettle.

“Fresh food and a fire burning in the hearth,” observed Vigilant Tyr. “Someone has been here recently.”

“Someone? Or something?” asked Daenerys. The feeling of something wrong was even stronger and there was some kind of smoke or fog in the room. Except it didn’t smell like smoke or feel damp like fog. There was also something else off about the room, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Wait! Did you hear that? I think it came from this way.” He took off through a door at the other end of the room.

Daenerys followed after him into what was a sitting room, maybe. It was hard to tell. Only a few candles were lit in this room and the miasma was thicker and darker. The entire room appeared indistinct as if seen through a fog at night. She could hear the sound that the vigilant mentioned and it didn’t sound natural. It reminded her of the sound of metal on a grindstone, but it went on and on. Like the wind or the babble of a river the sound waxed and waned in strength. The vigilant was right about one thing. The sound clearly came from deeper inside the house. More importantly, the sense of wrongness was stronger.

Vigilant Tyr scowled at the room. “That’s it. Something’s inside the house. Come on. We’re getting to the bottom of this!” He immediately rushed through another door that led deeper inside.

She followed him down a dark hallway and down some stairs into another room that might be a cellar, but it was large enough to house a family or two of Nords. Only two candles burned in this room, and the little light they gave off was consumed by the thickening clouds. She heard a rattling noise and swung about.

A pot floated into the air and then it sailed at her as if thrown by an unseen hand.

Daenerys cast her Shove spell at the pot and it shattered into pieces that fell to the ground. “What’s happening?!”

“Stendarr's Mercy!” cried Vigilant Tyr. “This is no ordinary Daedra! We have to get help.” He took off and ran back the way they came.

Daenerys followed after him. The entire house seemed to be possessed. Books, pots, barrels, and other objects were moving through the air as if gripped by unseen hands. Some of them were moving about randomly. Others attacked them. Daenerys wished she had her armor and a stout shield. The small objects weren’t that dangerous or hard to dodge, but furniture was being tossed about as well. She dodged the small things and used Shove to deflect the large ones.

They reached the first room, but it looked much different now. The dark clouds smothered the lights and made it hard to see. She dodged a flying block of cheese and then felt a sharp pain in her leg. She reached behind her and pulled a fork out of her calf. It was stained with her blood.

“WEAK. HE’S WEAK. YOU’RE STRONG. CRUSH HIM.” The voice was that of a man, but it reeked of cruelty and power and boomed like thunder.

That voice was the final clue that explained the dark mystery of this house. She felt foolish for not realizing what this was sooner. Tyr was right. This was no ordinary daedra. She had been near power like that before. This was like being in the presence of Clavicus Vile or Nocturnal. Except, the sense of cruelty was much stronger than that of detached amusement. Daedric Princes were cruel and capricious by nature, but which one? He wanted her to crush the weak. That meant this was Molag Bal: the Daedric Prince of Domination and Enslavement, the Tormentor of Men, the King of Rape, and many other disgusting titles.

“We’re getting out of here! Now!” He tried the door and it didn’t budge. “We’re trapped. I don't want to die. I can't die here!”

The room rang with the sound of the Daedric Prince’s laughter. “NO. KILL HIM. CRUSH HIS BONES. TEAR AT HIS FLESH.”

“Get out of my head, Daedra!” yelled the vigilant with his hands held over his ears.

“Step aside,” commanded Daenerys. When Tyr didn’t move, she pushed him aside. She gathered her magicka and released it as a Shout. “ **Fus! Ro!** ” She tried to add Dah, the Word that completed the triple but she had spent too much of her magicka blocking flying objects with her Shove spell. The third Word died unspoken. The Shout still impacted the door and even two Words of power should have blasted it open, but the door stood untouched.

“You can Shout!” exclaimed the vigilant. “But… we’re still trapped, like rats! Keep Shouting.”

“Stay strong,” encouraged Daenerys. “Give me just a bit to recover my magicka, and I’ll Shout the door down.”

“YOU WILL KILL, OR YOU WILL DIE!” commanded the echoing voice of Molag Bal.

“You used all your magicka?” asked the vigiliant. He looked her up and down. “I’m sorry!” He grabbed his mace and attacked her.

Daenerys hastily stepped aside from the blow. “What are you doing? If we stay together, we can escape together.”

He laughed the brittle laugh of madness. “The Daedra has us. It's you or me!" He came at her again with a wide sweeping horizontal blow.

Daenerys scampered back. The mace was her preferred weapon. It was a crude and blunt weapon for those with more strength than skill. As the mace passed she tried to dash in and slash at the vigilant’s arm. However, the vigilant held out his hand and sparks of electricity shot forth.

She recognized the spell even as she screamed in pain. Sparks, the simplest of the electric spells. Useful against mages because the pain of seared nerves made it hard to recover magicka. She pushed through the pain and slashed at his outstretched hand drawing first blood.

Tyr fell back and clenched his hand to him. In doing so he left himself wide open.

Daenerys followed through with her dagger striking once, twice, three times in quick session. She pulled back leaving the vigilant with slashes on both his arms and two deep wounds in his belly.

He looked at her still standing, and then looked down at the wounds on his belly. His face was white. “I’m sorry.” He collapsed to the floor. “Forgive me.”

Daenerys rushed forward and kicked his mace aside. Her nerves were still screaming from the Shock spell and she couldn’t pull any magicka up from inside. Maybe she could have found a little magicka, if she had really wanted to heal him, but she didn’t feel in a forgiving mood. “May Stendarr forgive you, for I cannot.”

The loud sound of Molag Bal clapping sounded through the room. “KILL HIM. BE DONE WITH IT.”

Molag Bal’s voice was enough to break through to Daenerys. She had bargained with Nocturnal and Clavicus Vile, but there was nothing remotely good in the presence that filled this house. It was pure cruelty and evil. Molag Bal was their enemy, and he had them fighting each other. She went down on her knees and tried to pull up some magicka. Her hand went to her throat to grab her amulet, but there was no amulet there. It didn’t matter anyway. Most belly wounds could be survived with prompt healing, but she must have struck something vital. His robes were drenched in blood and the light was gone from his eyes. The priest of Stendarr was dead.

“YES! GOOD!” gloated Molag Bal. “YOUR REWARD IS WAITING FOR YOU, DOV. FURTHER DOWN. COME TO ME.”


	5. Chapter 4

# Chapter 4

Tirdas, the 5th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

After the death of Vigilant Tyr the room lightened and the miasma in the air faded, but it didn’t go entirely away. The dark mist still lingered in the air making shadows darker and shapes indistinct. The food, cooking utensils, and furniture that had been moving were now strewn about the floor, but they lay still. The oppressive darkness had lifted, but the light was strange. She could see, but there was an odd lack of color. Everything was in shades of brown and grey. A glance at her hands showed that the odd coloring applied to her as well.

Daenerys closed the eyes of Vigilant Tyr. She offered a silent prayer to Talos for his soul. She wondered if the Nords were right. Did the gods of this world truly value how you faced death more than how you faced life? He had tried to kill her, but she couldn’t blame him for panicking when faced with a Daedric Prince. It seemed rather capricious of the gods to judge a man on only his final moments. On the other hand, the most important decisions came in little moments, like when she had decided to burn a city, or stand and face a dragon.

She picked up the fallen priest’s mace and stood. She had two choices now. She could try and Shout down the door, or she could go further down into this house and seek the reward that Molag Bal claimed she would receive. The simple version of religion in Skyrim was the Nine were good and Daedric Princes were evil. From what she had learned, Azura and Meridia weren’t necessarily evil, Nocturnal was merely self-interested, and even Mephala was misunderstood according to Brelyna. However, Molag Bal was certainly evil. His whole purpose was to crush the week and he thought all men and mer were weak. He was probably the most completely evil of all the Daedric Princes. She didn’t trust Molag Bal. She wanted nothing to do with him. Unfortunately, she had already Shouted **Fus** - **Ro** , Force with Balance, at the door and that had done absolutely nothing. The triple Shout **Fus** - **Ro** - **Dah** was much stronger than the sum of its parts, but she didn’t really believe it would work. This entire house was under Molag Bal’s control. Killing Tyr had not been an act of strength. It had been an act of desperation, as had burning down King’s Landing. However, Molag Bal thought otherwise. In his eyes even trying to escape was a sign of weakness. Trying to escape again and failing would not merely be a sign of weakness, but proof. There was no choice. She would have to go down deeper into the house and see what Molag Bal wanted of her.

Her mind made up, Daenerys turned to the practicalities. It would be entirely in character for Molag Bal to make her fight her way down past other obstacles and creatures. She searched Vigilant Tyr’s corpse for anything that would help her survive. The only armor he wore was his leather boots that were hopelessly too big for her. She wasn’t touching the Amulet of Stendarr he wore around his neck. She had too much respect for the power of the gods in Tamriel to mess with it. However, his robes were also enchanted. She wasn’t good at reading enchantments, but they had the feel of healing magic. They were also stained with the priest’s blood. Daenerys stripped him and donned his bloody robes as well. She took his belt, secured it around her waist, and hung his mace on it. She could feel the wet stickiness of Tyr’s blood on her, but she ignored it. Deliberately, she counted out the few coins in his purse and took them as well. Money was meaningless here, but Molag Bal would approve of her robbing the dead. To the victor go the spoils was his philosophy. Molag Bal would have loved the Dothraki and the Ironborn.

Resolutely she headed back down into the house. She kept alert scanning for anything alive and moving. She fully expected to have to fight her way down, but she found nothing in the sitting room. The storeroom below was also empty, but there was a door they hadn’t tried. She opened it.

“YES. FURTHER. INTO THE BOWELS.” The voice Molag Bal still echoed, but now he sounded both droll and eager rather than commanding.

Daenerys opened the door and found another storeroom. This one was mostly empty and covered in cobwebs, but two lit lanterns gave off enough light to see by. She wondered what Molag Bal wanted of her. Unlike Clavicus Vile he wasn’t known for making deals. It would be entirely in character for Molag Bal to lure her to him and then rape and torture her. People were nothing in his eyes. The only thing he respected was strength. She didn’t want to go down, but she kept moving. She would not show weakness, and hesitation was a form of weakness.

In a dark corner of the second storeroom, there was a breach in the wall. Instead of the straight lines and intricate carvings of Dwemer stonework, a ragged tunnel led deeper down. This was no doubt what Molag Bal meant by into the bowels.

She went down. The tunnel was dimly lit by a few scattered lanterns and showed signs of excavation. There were picks and shovels scattered about along with piles of rock and debris. The grinding sound that had never gone away grew louder as she descended.

“YES, LITTLE DOV, COME AND CLAIM YOUR REWARD.”

She wanted to flee. She remembered all too well the pain and shame of her wedding night with Khal Drogo, and her moon and stars had tried to be gentle with her. Molag Bal would make that less than a bee sting. He would torture her to make the worst she had heard of Ramsey Bolton mild in comparison. However, running would make it worse. If that was her fate, she was at least going to face it standing on her feet with weapon in hand. Maybe the Nords were right. Maybe the gods did care more about how you faced death instead of how you lived life.

Nothing attacked her as she continued down the corridor. At the end she found a small irregular chamber. In the center of the chamber was an altar depicting some kind of demon head presumably Molag Bal. Standing upon the altar was a mace impossibly balanced upright upon a spiked pommel. Was that the reward he was dangling before her like bait for a fish? The altar, the dais, and the mace were all made of a black metal that gleamed in the dim light as if it were wet. She had never seen the metal before, but she had heard it described. The altar, the dais, and the mace were all made of ebony. The rare metal was the strongest known in Tamriel. It wasn’t even certain the metal was of Tamriel. Many believed ebony to be of daedric origin and accursed. Not that being accursed stopped people from using it to make weapons and armor.

She was clearly expected to go up to the altar. It felt wrong. Molag Bal was about domination, crushing his enemies. She should have to fight her way past guards to reach this place. She eyed the ebony dais. Why make the dais of ebony as well? Perhaps it would open up and drop her into a pit? That sounded like Molag Bal. She could walk around behind the altar, but the mace would be too high up to grab from there. Not that she even wanted the mace. She didn’t trust Molag Bal or his gifts. An ebony mace for merely killing a priest was too good to be true. The smart thing would be to turn back. Except, that Molag Bal was all about strength. Being too scared to even dare to grasp the mace would also fail his test. On the other hand, if she was foolish enough to step into a trap that would also be a sign of weakness? Then she realized there was a third choice.

She put her hands on her hips and stared at the altar. “I’m not stepping into that trap.”

The room exploded in booming laughter. “OH, BUT YOU ALREADY STEPPED INTO MY TRAP. THE ENTIRE HOUSE WAS MY TRAP. GO ON. TAKE WHAT IS YOURS.”

“I will, but on my own terms. I’ll be back.” Daenerys deliberately turned from the altar and headed back up. Turning her back on Molag Bal was dangerous, but she kept going. As she exited the tunnel into the lower storeroom the miasma began to increase again. Molag Bal wasn’t happy. She continued to walk. She would not give in to fear and look weak. In the storeroom she saw a chest that might work for what she had in mind, but she knew there was something better. She continued back up. When she reached the sitting room, objects started to shake and move again. She continued her steady pace and schooled herself to show no reaction.

In the kitchen she finally reached her goal, the corpse of Vigilant Tyr. She steeled her resolve, crouched down, and picked up his corpse. She had to shift him around a bit to get him settled on her shoulders, but she could manage his weight. After consuming two dragons and becoming a werewolf, she was much stronger than she looked. That didn’t mean it was easy. The clattering of objects died down, but the miasma and odd coloring remained. She felt a dark anticipation in the air.

Despite her extra strength, she was weary by the time she returned to the chamber with the altar. She knew Molag Bal was watching, and she wanted to make an impression. So, she Shouted **Mul** , Strength, and suddenly the burden on her shoulders weighed almost nothing. She shifted the priest’s corpse, so she held him balanced aloft over her head. Then she tossed him up and onto the dais.

She had expected the dais to open up and drop the corpse into a pit below. Instead, a cage rose up around the corpse impossibly fast. The cage was made of ebony, just like the altar and the dais, and was obviously designed to hold a person. The gaps were too small for a person to squeeze through and the bars were lined with sharp spikes to punish any attempt to escape.

“YES!” Molag Bal laughed and it sounded like hope dying. “YOU PLEASE ME, DOVAHKIIN! I SMELLED CRUELTY. I HEARD THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF SOULS BEGGING YOU FOR MERCY! BUT YOU SUBMITTED SO MEEKLY TO THOSE DIBELLAN HARLOTS. I HAD TO TEST YOU. TO SEE FOR MY OWN EYES. NOT ONLY DID YOU KILL THE WEAKLING, BUT YOU GAVE HIS SOUL TO ME.” The cage abruptly came down, and as it did the thorned bars ripped the corpse of Vigilant Tyr into shreds. Blood flew and splattered the altar and the stone of the chamber floor. Where blood met ebony the black metal seemed to soak it up.

Daenerys felt sick. She had not intended to send the priest’s soul to Molag Bal. She had not even known such a thing was possible. He had already been dead. How could something she did after he died determine where his soul went? She wanted to scream at the Daedric Prince and demand that he release the priest’s soul. However, she knew that Molag Bal had no mercy in him.

“TRULY,” continued the pleased voice. “THERE COULD BE NONE BETTER TO WIELD MY ARTIFACT IN THIS AGE.” The mace that had been standing impossibly at the altar floated over to her.

Daenerys pushed down fear and disgust. Any sign of weakness would get her killed. She snatched at the mace and grabbed it by the handle. It was a huge ugly thing of sharp edges and spikes, but it felt right in her hand.

“IT HASN’T BEEN FED IN TOO LONG. DIP IT IN HIS BLOOD.”

Daenerys did as she was bidden. Vigilant Tyr was dead. His soul belonged to Molag Bal. He didn’t need his blood any longer. She felt something stir as she blooded the weapon, and the mace shrunk a little.

“GOOD. GOOD! I HAVE CHANGED IT TO SERVE YOU BETTER. SMALLER TO FIT YOUR HAND. YOU HAVE STRENGTH, BUT NOT SKILL AT ARMS. WHEN YOU KILL WITH MY MACE, A PORTION OF YOUR VICTIM’S SKILL AT ARMS WILL PASS UNTO YOU.”

Her first thought was one of greed. Stealing even a portion of someone’s combat skill would be very useful to her. It took years to become good at arms. This mace could help her survive. Then her stomach flipped and churned and she almost heaved up at the thought of using this mace. “Only a portion of their skill goes to me? And you get their souls? Sounds like you get the better part of that deal.”

Molag Bal laughed. “YES, I ALWAYS DO. THE STRONG ALWAYS GET THE BEST OF EVERY DEAL. CLEVER DOV TO SEE IT. I LIKE YOU, DAENERYS TARGARYEN. SPEND ONE NIGHT WITH ME IN MY REALM. YOUR WILL TO DOMINATE IS STRONG, BUT MINE IS STRONGER. SUBMIT TO ME AND I WILL MAKE YOU A DAUGHTER OF COLDHARBOUR, A TRUE VAMPIRE.”

“I appreciate the offer, Molag Bal, but I respectfully decline to submit, even to you.”

“AH, SUCH SWEET DEFIANCE. EVEN THOUGH YOU WILL NOT BEND, YOU WILL STILL SERVE. I WILL PREPARE A PLACE OF HONOR FOR YOU IN COLDHARBOUR, A MANSION, FILLED WITH ALL THE SOULS YOU SEND TO ME. YOU HAVE ALREADY MADE A GOOD START. WHEN YOU SHED YOUR MORTAL SKIN, COME AND VISIT ME BEFORE YOU MOVE ON TO YOUR NEXT INCARNATION. UNTIL THEN, MAKE THE MORTALS TREMBLE AT THE SOUND OF YOUR NAME AND MINE.”

The palpable presence vanished. The dim light vanished with it plunging her into darkness.

She had to find her way out by following the wall. The tunnel floor was uneven, and she stumbled more than once. The third time she stumbled and fell. She lay there on the cold floor and cried her eyes out. She wept in anger, fear, shame, and self-disgust. She had held it all inside because showing weakness in front of Molag Bal would have resulted in a fate worse than death, but with him gone it all came pouring out. What kind of person was she that Molag Bal approved of her? What kind of person thought that sending someone’s soul to Molag Bal for a small bit of martial skill was a reasonable deal? She had once wished that Molag Bal claimed the souls of the guards who wanted to rape her in Winterhold. She hadn’t truly realized what that meant. She didn’t forgive them, but no one should suffer that fate. A fate to which she had condemned Vigilant Tyranus. It had been an accident, and he had betrayed her, but that didn’t make it right. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

.oOo.

Daenerys awoke sore and uncomfortable on a hard stone floor surrounded by darkness. Memories of her encounter with Molag Bal were still fresh in her mind. She searched around in the dark for a wall. She found the mace first. Resolutely she left it there. She wanted nothing to do with it. While it could certainly help her, she wasn’t sending anyone’s soul to Molag Bal. Besides, it was made of ebony and would draw attention she couldn’t afford. She wondered how much time had passed. Would Vigilant Tyr be missed if he did not return to the Silver-Blood Inn? Would the city guard be on the lookout for the Breton girl that left with him? Hopefully not. It was a big city. Surely, the city watch had more important things to do.

After crawling through the darkness for a distance without finding a wall, she gave up in frustration. She sat down and tried to conjure up light. Candlelight was one of the easiest Alteration spells, but she had never been good at the Seeming needed for Alteration. She was just too cynical to harbor the childish belief that anything was possible. The world wasn’t like that. She hoped desperation would accomplish what the classroom could not. She had been desperate when she’d first channeled Frost and Healing, but she sat there in the dark, and nothing happened. After three failed attempts, she decided to try something different. She gathered her Will. She Focused on a light appearing in her hand. Instead of a foolish belief that anything was possible, she tried faith for a Seeming. “Please, Talos, might I have a little light?”

The light that appeared in her hand blinded her. She closed her eyes and looked away and opened them. She’d done it. Candlelight. Although she’d had help. “Thank you.”

Looking around she realized she must have been going in circles because Molag Bal’s mace was right by her knee. She left it there in the darkness and headed up. She went all the way up to the top and checked the door. It was no longer locked. She couldn’t see the sun any longer. Some stars were visible to the east, but the western sky was still shaded pink. Sunset. Which meant she didn’t want to be out after dark. That was fine with her.

Daenerys cooked one of the rabbits and then searched the house. She found a little bit of gold, but not much. Added to the gold the priest had on him and she couldn’t even afford a full set of leather armor. She could afford a set of furs like she had worn when she left Riverwood so long ago, but those were meant more for warmth than protection. She didn’t need warmth in the middle of summer. She needed protection. Fortunately, she had also found a real dress. It was a simple dress, a brown kirtle over a sandy-colored smock with a leather corset. Unfortunately, the dress was meant for a Nord woman. The skirts were too long for her, and it was too big in the bust. Luckily, she had also found needle and thread, so she sat down by the fire. She knew she lacked the skill to take in the bust, but she knew enough to manage a simple hem.

As she hemmed the dress, she planned for the next day. With this dress she could go outside without looking like a beggar or a whore. She would still look like a Breton, but she would be dressed the same as every Nord daughter and mother. She should probably still avoid the plaza. That one guard had promised to come looking for her to get ‘thanked’ properly. If he asked questions at the Silver-Blood Inn, he might have learned that she left with Vigilant Tyr, but the vigilant didn’t come back. With a city as big as Markarth, it was doubtful they would investigate unless she ran into them. Thus, avoiding the plaza.

Still, that left her a lot of freedom and her search had turned up other items of potential value. Most of what she found hadn’t been worth much: plenty of food and wine, some tin cups, assorted herbs and spices, furniture, and such. However, some of it was valuable: two sabercat pelts, some iron weapons, a shield, a helmet, and a hunting bow. She also had the priest’s mace which she planned to keep. The vigilant’s robes were enchanted for Restoration, so they would be very valuable. Unfortunately, they were bloodstained and finely embroidered with a recurring theme of horns. Judging by the horn on the priest’s amulet, the symbol of Stendarr was a horn. So, as valuable as the robes were, she couldn’t risk trying to sell it. There would be too many questions asked.

If she could sell everything else she’d found, she might have enough to afford leather armor and a backpack. However, if she tried to haul everything into a store, she’d likely be accused of being a thief. She did still look like a Breton, and even after hemming the skirts, her dress still wouldn’t fit properly. No doubt there were places in Markarth that wouldn’t ask too many questions, but she had no clue where to find them. Nor could she ask where to find someone who would buy shady goods. Really, she had little choice but to seek out the other contact that Senna had given her, Eltrys. Senna said he was a Breton. So, he probably wouldn’t judge her and could likely point her to someone who would buy what she had looted from the house and not ask questions. Not the best plan, but at this point it was her only plan.

She made a bed of the sabercat pelts and tried to get some sleep, but she slept poorly. Her dreams were haunted by memories of her past and roads not taken. She dreamt of King’s Landing on fire. She could smell the smoke and hear the screams of her victims. Then she was down among them, screaming herself, fleeing from Alduin as he burned down Helgen. She escaped through the tunnels of Helgen to be met by Jon Snow. He greeted her with an embrace and shoved a dagger into her heart. Then she was back in the ruined throne room of the Red Keep, but it wasn’t the Iron Throne forged of a thousand swords. Instead, it was a white marble throne with red velvet cushions to sit upon and a huge ruby over her head. As she looked out from the throne to the ruin of King’s Landing, Jon Snow knelt at her feet like an obedient dog. Then she was marching through the streets of Windhelm leading an army of the Unsullied with the Dragonguard mixed in. Ulfric Stormcloak challenged her to meet him in a duel. She Shouted three Words that pulled down flaming rocks from the heavens destroying her forces and Ulfric’s alike and leaving nothing of Windhelm but a smoking ruin. And through all the dreams she could hear Molag Bal laughing and the relentless tolling of the bells, bells, bells.

She awoke screaming and drenched in sweat. It took her several long deep breaths to regain her composure. When she did, she found Molag Bal’s mace lying within arm’s reach of her makeshift bed.

Daenerys turned to the side of her pallet of furs and retched onto the floor. Fortunately, she hadn’t eaten much the previous night, but the queasy feeling in her stomach did not go away when her heaving subsided. She was a fool and a fake. She strutted around pretending to be a hero, the chosen one, the Dragonborn. She let people believe in her. She acted as if the death of a city at her hand had just been a simple mistake, something she could put behind her and move on. Molag Bal had ripped that façade away. The single most evil being in Skyrim admired her.

Maybe she should just stop? Was she truly making anything better in Tamriel? She was disguised. Markarth was on the far western end of Skyrim. She could take the road west and leave Skyrim behind. She could find a new home in High Rock. Yet, she had done some good, hadn’t she? How many would have died to the dragons? And Talos had believed in her. The words of Paar-Thur-Nax came back to her. “What is better? To be born good or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?” She also remembered her words to him. Redemption was a journey with no end.

Resolutely she stood up and left Molag Bal’s mace where it lay. Yes, she had done great wrong for the sake of her own glory. Yes, she could never make that right. However, there were people counting on her to stop the dragons. There were people who cared for her as a person and not just the Dragonborn: Gerdur, Faralda, Sofija, Brelyna, and others. Grandfather, Fultheim, and more had already died for her. Somewhere in Karthwasten was a little girl that she had promised to save. And, beyond all that Al-Du-In had returned. Maybe she wasn’t the prophesized one. Maybe she would die trying to stop Al-Du-In, but she would try. Molag Bal could keep his mace and shove it up his own ass.


	6. Chapter 5

# Chapter 5

Middas, the 6th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys felt much better venturing out into Markarth wearing a proper dress. Nords still looked at her with disapproval. With her hair colored brown, she looked like a Breton, and her dress didn’t fit properly. However, she looked like she was merely poor instead of a whore. Being dismissed for being poor Breton was much better than the unwelcome attention she’d drawn wearing just a sleeveless smock.

According to Senna, Eltrys worked at the smelter at the west end of Markarth, and all she had to do was follow the rivers downstream. The problem she had with her directions was that following the rivers led her straight to the plaza, the one place she didn’t want to go. Rather than risk running into the same guards again, she backtracked and took sidestreets and alleys to circle around the plaza. She passed a few stores and was tempted by one that sold clothing. A properly fitted dress would help her fit in even better. However, she decided to seek out Eltrys first. As she continued to follow the rivers downstream, the shops and homes became smaller and poorer. She also noticed more Bretons and even a few other races moving about. Some men turned to look at her, not in disdain or because she looked like a whore, but simply the usual attention men paid to a pretty lass.

She found the smelter at the far end of the city near the wall, just as Senna had said. The men working the smelter were stripped down to their breeches as they shoveled coal and silver into the smelter. Daenerys circled around from a distance. Eltrys was supposed to be an overseer and a Breton. It wasn’t too hard to pick him out. There were two men yelling orders. One was an orc working up close to the smelter. The other was a Breton wearing fine clothing and he was supervising the pouring. The Breton had brown swept-back hair that fell around his shoulder, a clean-shaven face, and an intricate spiderweb of red facepaint. He was ordering people about with a confident air, and while he swore frequently it was the good-natured kind of swearing that men did while they worked. She had heard a lot worse while rowing the Sea Dagger. From the way the men responded they expected it and weren’t offended.

She was reluctant to just walk up to him while he worked, but after watching for a few minutes it was clear that he wasn’t going to be getting any less busy any time soon. So, she gathered her skirts, dodged around the busy men, and walked up to him.

As she did there were some catcalls from the men. “Oh, look what we got here.” “Hey, wanna see my hammer? I’m good at hammerin’.” “Yeah, with your hand.” “Ooh, Eltrys, looks like she’s got eyes for you.”

Eltrys stepped away from the men. “Do you need something, miss? We’re busy here.”

Daenerys took a few steps closer so she could talk without being overheard. “Senna the Acolyte sent me your way. She said you were looking for someone to help you investigate.”

“What?” He frowned. “I’m sorry, but Senna must have misunderstood. I need a mercenary, or at least a warrior. Someone who can hold their own and protect me in a fight. You’re…” He looked her up and down. “I’m sorry, lass. You’re easy on the eyes, but that’s not at all what I need.”

Daenerys laughed. “I’m a mage. I can more than hold my own in a fight.”

“Oh.” His mouth twitched and then he nodded. “Maybe, but do you know what you’re getting into?”

“She just said that you’ve been poking your nose into things and that you wanted someone to back you up. Sounds dangerous for a Breton to be doing in Markarth, but that’s why you’ll pay me, right?”

He looked about. “Yeah. I suppose. Look, I’ll meet you at the Shrine of Talos after I get off work. It’s almost always deserted these days.” He turned to leave.

She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Wait. I just arrived here recently. I don’t know my way around and the man I followed here threw me out. I need to sell a few things, just to get by, but when I tried to sell, the merchant called me a thief and threatened to call the city watch. I didn’t know Bretons were so hated here. Where can I find an honest merchant, who won’t try to rob me, or call the guards?”

“An honest merchant?” Eltrys laughed. “I don’t think there is such a thing, but you must have been looking at the wrong end of the city. Stay here on the downriver end of Markarth. There’s a couple of stores, inns, and taverns that cater mostly to us Bretons and other outsiders.” He waved to the north. “You should find something over that way. Now, can I have my arm back?”

Daenerys released him. “Thank you. I’ll see you at the Shrine of Talos.”

“I’ll be there,” he agreed and walked away.

After he left it occurred to her that the Shrine of Talos may be deserted, but it really wasn’t a good place to meet. There were Thalmor in Markarth. Wouldn’t they keep an eye on it? However, she didn’t want to make more of a scene than she already had so she let him go. Maybe it was a good thing? A sign from Talos? Her hand strayed up to just below her neck, but she left her amulet with Senna. While she felt nothing, she decided to take it for a sign.

Following the directions Eltrys gave her, she found a section of the city that was more crowded and less pristine than the rest of Markarth. The majority of the inhabitants were Bretons, or possibly Reachmen. It wasn’t like she could tell them apart based on their appearance. There were still plenty of Nords, although they were obviously poor, and also a handful of other races. Dark-skinned Redguards seemed to be the most common, which wasn’t surprising as they were close to Hammerfell. Daenerys remembered how she had naively wondered if the Dunmer of Windhelm clustered together in one quarter because of law or simply to be near their own kind. Now that she was on the receiving end of Nord prejudice, she realized that the answer was neither. They clustered together for safety.

Daenerys spent the morning carrying some of the cheaper items from the house of Molag Bal and selling them at various shops. Even in the foreigner’s quarter, the shopkeepers looked at her like she was a thief. Not that it stopped them from buying. They even gave her good prices, but she soon learned that almost everything was more expensive in Markarth. The exception being anything made of silver cost less than in Whiterun or Riften. She found few weapons for sale and no armor that would fit her. When she asked about where she could have armor made that would fit her, she received the same answer from everyone: an orc smith named Ghorza gra-Bagol.

After having successfully made several trips without being stopped, Daenerys decided to just take all the iron weapons she’d found to Ghorza gra-Bagol. With any luck she could swing a deal where she would be paid in armor instead of gold. She rolled all the weapons she had found into the sabercat pelts and tied off the bundle. The thick pelts hid most of the weapons but the bow was too large to fit inside. She ended up having to carry the bow across her back. That drew more attention than she liked. Surprisingly, few women went armed in Markarth. Those who did wore daggers. Even with just a bow strapped across her back, Nords looked at her suspiciously again. She knew they were wondering if she was a Forsworn dressed as a Breton. She stuck to the side streets and alleys to avoid the Markarth Guard. She did not want to answer questions about why she was smuggling weapons.

Even the alleys of Markarth were surprisingly clean at least in the Nord dominated sections of town, so Daenerys had little fear in using them, but she unfortunately chose the wrong alley. A back door slammed open not far in front of her, and a blond Nord was tossed bodily out of it by another Nord built like an ox. She could hear raucous cheering from beyond the open door.

“Cheaters aren’t welcome here, Mathon,” said the brute of Nord before he slammed the door shut.

Daenerys glanced about. This was a long straight section of alley with no intersections, so she either had to go past this Mathon or turn her back upon him. Neither option appealed to her.

Mathon pushed himself up. He wasn’t quite as burly as the bouncer who had tossed him out, but it was close. He wasn’t wearing any armor, but he had a sword in a scabbard on his belt. He looked at her and laughed drunkenly. “And what are you supposed to be? A mighty huntress, you little Reacherwoman chit?”

“I’m just minding my own business.” She looked him in the eye as she said it. This was not good. A drunk and angry Nord was a dangerous Nord. All she had was a dagger. She had left the priest’s mace behind at the house of Molag Bal because women didn’t carry more than a dagger in Markarth. At least women wearing dresses didn’t. She had seen a few warrior maids wearing full armor and carrying weapons, but most women didn’t even carry a dagger.

“Well, my day is looking up.” He stalked toward her. “Tell you what, leave the bundle for me and I’ll let you walk away with that bow.”

“I’ll scream,” she bluffed.

“You go right ahead and do that. By the time the guards get here you’ll be dead. They’ll thank me for killing another spy.” He moved a hand to the hilt of his sword. “Is a bundle of furs really worth your life?”

Daenerys held out her left hand and channeled a burst of flame as long as her arm. “Is trying to rob me worth your life?”

“Forsworn!” He drew his sword in an instant and charged her.

Daenerys knew she wasn’t even close to being a warrior maid, but she trained with the Companions who were known as the best warriors in Skyrim. Some things had become almost reflexive. She dropped the wrapped bundle of pelts and brought her left hand up aiming at his face with a blast of fire. He flinched away from the fire giving her an opening to bring her mace down hard on his left side. He wasn’t wearing armor and she could feel his ribs crack. That’s when she noticed that Molag Bal’s mace had somehow appeared in her right hand.

“Fuh-fuh,” gasped the man still on his feet. His breathing was ragged and pained. From the way he was staggering some of his broken ribs had pierced his lungs. Without healing he would be dead soon, but he still held a sword in his hand. He took a few steps forward and swung at her.

Daenerys easily parried with Molag Bal’s mace. It was a wicked and heavy weapon. The force of her blow ripped the Nord’s sword from his hand and sent it flying across the alleyway. “I’m not Forsworn. Swear upon Talos to leave me be and I’ll heal you. We can both walk away and pretend this never happened.”

“Fuh. Oo,” replied the man. He made a hand gesture with two fingers in the air and twisted his wrist to show the back of his hand and his thumb now between them.

Daenerys knew that hand gesture very well. It was one of the first she learned while working at the Sleeping Giant Inn. “No, thank you, Mathon.” She looked down at the heavy ebony mace in her hands. It looked wet, but she could see no blood on the mace. It would be so easy to bring it down on his head, but no matter what the man had done he did not deserve to spend his afterlife in Coldharbour.

She knelt beside him. “You don’t deserve this.” But, he didn’t deserve an afterlife in Coldharbour either. She channeled healing into him and watched as his ribs straightened out and the color returned to his face. She cut off her healing and backed away still holding Molag Bal’s mace. “I’m a Breton you arse. You’re lucky to be alive today. Find a better way to live, Mathon. Picking on the weak and helpless? That’s Molag Bal’s way. If you died today and had to justify your life to Shor, what would you say?”

He looked down and said nothing.

“I’m taking your sword, so you’re not tempted to come after me. Pray that we do not cross paths again.”

He nodded his head a little and held his hands up. “I wouldn’t come after you for all the silver in Markarth. Where did that mace come from?”

“I’m a mage. I conjured it,” lied Daenerys. She wasn’t sure if she believed him about not coming after her, but she wasn’t going to kill him, so she turned and walked away. She listened with all her werewolf senses, but Mathon was not following her.

Once she turned the corner, she hurriedly untied and unrolled the pelts she was carrying and rolled the ebony mace and Mathon’s sword back up with the other weapons. She jogged to the next intersection and then started walking away. Behind her she could hear Mathon pounding on the door of the establishment that he’d been tossed out of. She wasn’t at all sure that sparing his life was the right thing to do. He had been going to rob her, maybe rape her, but she wasn’t sending any more souls to Molag Bal. She walked quickly but did not run. She made several random turns and had to backtrack when she almost exited onto the plaza. She was several blocks away from where the fight had taken place when she passed a pair of Markarth guards. They looked at her, but merely watched her pass as she went on her way.

Eventually, she made it back to the house of Molag Bal where she unwrapped her package and removed the damn mace. She tried testing it to see if it would return to her hand by pretending to fight without a weapon, but the mace remained where she dropped it just like any normal mace would do. She had rope and could tie it up, but it hadn’t flown to her. It had just teleported into her hand when she needed a weapon. She considered taking it to the temple of Dibella and letting them deal with it, but they had made it clear they weren’t going to help her. Having no other options, she shut it inside a chest and left it in the house again. If she could just avoid getting attacked, it would hopefully stay put for long enough for her to get some armor and get out of Markarth.

She took a much longer route to get to the foreign quarter. She had plenty of time and no desire to be anywhere close to where she encountered Mathon just in case he didn’t keep his mouth shut. She managed to cross the city without getting into a fight or stopped by the guard which was progress.

Daenerys was surprised to find that Ghorza gra-Bagol was a female orc. She was more grey than green, but her flat nose and tusks marked her as an Orsimer. Ghorza stood a full head taller than her with bulging arm muscles larger than most male Nords. She was berating her apprentice, a young Imperial as Daenerys approached.

“Tacitus? What is this?”

“Uh, a nail?” The boy didn’t even meet her eyes. He looked down at his feet as he answered her.

“Is that what you call it? In the Legion we would have called it useless. Look how brittle the metal is! Useless! Do it again and this time heat the metal all the way through.”

“Yes, Ghorza!” The boy hurried away.

Ghorza turned to her. “And what do you want? I don’t buy pelts. They have to be cured first before I work with them. You’ll get more for those as rugs anyway.”

Daenerys shrugged off her bundle of pelts and placed them on a nearby bench. “Then I’ll sell the pelts elsewhere, but I’m here for business. I have weapons for sell, and I want to buy armor.”

“Well, that’s different. Let’s see these weapons.”

She untied the bundle and revealed the weapons she’d gathered: two iron daggers, an iron war axe, an iron mace, and the sword she’d acquired from Mathon. She laid the bow on top of them. “I have a shield to go with them, banded iron, but it was a bit much to carry.”

Ghorza picked them up and examined them. “Decent work, considering they’re iron. Better than Tacitus could manage, but I’m not really interested. I usually work in steel. I don’t get a lot of customers for this crap. I’ll give you twenty septims for the iron weapons. I’m not interested in the bow.”

“Twenty? You could melt them down for twenty.”

Ghorza shrugged. “That’s exactly what I plan to do with them. Go sell them elsewhere if you can. You’ll get more. Now this sword? This is good steel. My brother made this. He makes weapons for the jarl. I hope you didn’t kill a guard for it.

“I didn’t kill anyone for it.” Mathon the cheater was a guard? Or had he just acquired the swords somewhere?

Ghorza shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it. Now, this sword needs sharpening, but I’ll give you twenty septims for it. Now, what kind of armor do you want?”

“Leather armor.” Although that was looking to be out of her price range now.

“A full set of leather will run you 300 septims. You got that much?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No.” Even if she could sell Vigilant Tyr’s enchanted robe for anything close to what it was worth, she still wouldn’t have that much. “Thank you for your time.” She put the weapons back inside the pelts and rolled them up.

Ghorza sighed, “Hey, Breton. You can probably get more for the iron weapons and other stuff at Arnleif and Sons on the plaza. They’ll buy and sell anything from anyone. You could probably pick up some used fur or hide armor at Arnleif and Sons as well.”

“I may do that,” said Daenerys just to be polite. Either fur or hide armor would just make her look like a Reacherwoman. She took her rolled-up furs and weapons and left.

Daenerys was frustrated. She was basically starting all over in a city that hated her. She was going to have to give up on leather armor at least for now. She was also going to have to brave the plaza. She spent some time looking through second-hand clothing stores and she found some robes and a hood. They weren’t enchanted and offered no protection, but with the hood up her hair was hidden and her eyes were shadowed. With the addition of a staff she at least looked like a proper mage. Nords distrusted mages in general, but they did respect them. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it would have to do.

Dressed as a mage she returned to the plaza with her bundle balanced on her shoulders. She noticed two pairs of Markarth Guards walking about. She could see them tracking her, but they didn’t stop her. Most of the Nords scowled at her, but they also made way for her. She felt foolish for all the time she had wasted. She should have done this sooner.

With a name like Arnleif and Sons, Daenerys expected to see a father and son working there. Instead a Nord woman with a peculiar Redguard cap was running the store. Daenerys didn’t ask questions about if she was the owner or just an assistant. She just unrolled her pelts and they haggled over the prices. Ghorza was right. The prices she received were much better than in the foreigner’s quarter. They also had hide armor, fur, and some leather that was actually meant to be used as padding underneath steel plate. Some of the fur armor was in her size, but she turned it down. What she received wouldn’t be enough to buy the leather armor she wanted, but it was a good start.

.oOo.

The Temple of Talos was the other large building on the central island. It felt more like a mausoleum. Two large doors opened on a stairway that lead down to a large central chamber. A statue of Talos slaying a snake twice the size of a man filled the chamber. She wished she had asked Nura Snow-Shod about the meaning of the statue when she had the chance. Despite the worship of Talos being banned and Thalmor present in the city, lit candles and offerings lay scattered around the feet of the statue. Maybe she should have suggested another meeting place. While this place was deserted now, people obviously came here. She hadn’t seen anyone watching the place, but she knew that it was risky to be here. However, despite all that she felt hopeful. So far Markarth had been one disaster after another, or perhaps one god after another. She’d gone from Sanguine to Dibella to Molag Bal. Now here she was at the Shrine of Talos. Was this a sign? Grandfather had told her to trust in the gods. Maybe, she just needed to have a little faith. She knelt before the statue and prayed to Talos.

She wasn’t really sure how to pray. The gods in Essos only cared for the wealthy, and the gods of Westeros had never been her gods. Most people seemed to pray for miracles. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Talos would gift her armor or teleport her back to Riften. She settled for just sharing her frustrations, talking to Talos in her head as if he were a friend. She also asked him for guidance, but she didn’t feel any sudden inspiration. Although she did feel better for whatever reason.

When the temple door opened, she rolled to her feet. She moved to the side of the chamber so she wouldn’t be seen immediately. From the sound of the footsteps, it was only one person. Her werewolf senses said male, but it wasn’t until the man reached the bottom of the steps that she recognized him as Eltrys. “I was beginning to wonder if you would even show.”

Eltrys laughed. “I got here as quickly as I could. Well, you certainly look like a mage now. That’s good. You’re dangerous looking. You’ll do.”

“I’ll do?” asked Daenerys. “Senna was short on details. What are we investigating? More importantly, how much am I going to get paid?”

“Pay? Well now, I’ve never hired a mercenary before. How about fifty septims a day?”

The way he asked that question told Daenerys that Eltrys was even more well off than she thought. No one who had to save every coin could ever be that flippant about money or bargain so poorly. Fifty septims a day was more than she paid her mercenaries to fight dragons. To be fair, she hired them long-term and paid their food and board. She was going to take advantage of that gullibility. She almost felt guilty about it, but she had a number she needed to reach, and that number was three hundred septims. Besides, she had just prayed to Talos. Maybe Eltrys and his fat purse was the answer to her prayers. “I usually get paid by the job, so tell me what you want first, then we’ll finalize the price.”

“Okay, I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but things have been getting worse and worse for the past year. That attack in the market yesterday… I'm just fed up. I want answers. So does everyone in this city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess and blame every Breton in Markarth. This has been going on for years, and all I've been able to find is murder and blood. We need to do what the guard won’t. I want, no, I need to find answers.

“This all started when I was a boy. My father owned one of the mines. Rare for anyone who isn't a Nord. He was killed. Guards said it was just a madman, but everyone knew the murderer was a member of the Forsworn. I've been trying to find out why ever since. Gotten nowhere so far, and then I got married, and things have been getting a lot worse this past year. I have a child of my own on the way. I swore I was going to just give up, for my child's sake, but it's like my father's ghost is haunting me. Asking me, ‘Why?’”

Daenerys didn’t think the mystery was that hard to unravel. Eltrys was just blind because he was a rich Breton. Ulfric Stormcloak killed every Reachman in Markarth. They were driven out and became the Forsworn. Now they wanted revenge. The Forsworn attacked the Nords, and the Nords struck back against the Bretons because they couldn’t tell the difference between a Reachman and a Breton. Not to mention that any mysterious death was now rolled into that. If she had killed Mathon in the alleyway that would have probably been blamed on the Forsworn and not a robbery gone bad. To be fair to Eltrys, his father’s death did not fit that pattern. He may have been a Breton, but he’d been a wealthy mine owner. She doubted that investigating anything happening today would solve what happened when Eltrys was a child. However, it didn’t really matter if this was a wild goose chase or not. She needed the money. “Very well, you think there is something more to it. How do you propose going about finding out?”

“We research each death. We’ll start with the most recent one first. The woman who was struck down in the marketplace. Her name was Margret and she's not from Markarth. We can start at the Silver-Blood Inn. Visitors to the city usually stay there.”

Daenerys really didn’t want to return to the Silver-Blood Inn. While she was wearing a hood now that hid her face somewhat, how many short female mages were there in Markarth? The innkeeper’s wife, Frabbi, would probably recognize her. Would she be concerned that Vigilant Tyr never returned to his room? She couldn’t tell the truth and would prefer not to lie, but for fifty septims a day she was willing to take some risks. “Is Margret your only lead?”

“No. We can also investigate her murderer. His name was Weylin he used to work for me down at the smelter casting ingots. I never knew much about him, except he lived in the Warrens, like most of the other workers.”

Daenerys smiled. That would certainly be safer. “Very well, we can investigate this murder. Now, two Bretons poking our noses around Markarth? That’s risky. I’ll accept your fifty septims a day, but I want a one-week minimum paid upfront. If it takes more than one week, you can pay me daily.” And more importantly, she could get her armor made.

“That’s more than I have on me and I won’t pay you all upfront. Two hundred now and the rest upon completion.”

Two hundred plus what she had on her would pay for leather armor from Ghorza gra-Bagol. There was certainly some risk involved poking their nose into things, but Eltrys wasn’t a poor man. He had wealth and status. He could get away with asking questions. All she had to do was threaten anyone who caused him trouble. She doubted there was anything to find, so he would probably give up after a few days. “Agreed. Two hundred septims now. Fifty septims per day, and a minimum of three hundred and fifty septims.” She offered her hand.

Eltrys clasped it. “Agreed.” He took out his purse and counted out two hundred septims to her. There was still quite a bit left in his purse.

Daenerys pocked the money and smiled at him. “Very well, boss. Where are we going first?”


	7. Chapter 6

# Chapter 6

Middas, the 6th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

The Silver-Blood Inn looked the same as it had on the previous day. The bar was well-lit, but the tables were shadowed. Kleppr manned the bar while Frabbi waited tables, and they both bickered with each other loud enough for everyone to hear.

Eltrys halted just inside the door. “Perhaps you should ask the questions?”

Daenerys felt like rolling her eyes. However, she was now a mercenary, and he was her client. That made him the boss. “I’m an outsider. You’re not a noble, but you’re known and respected in Markarth. She’ll more likely answer your questions than mine. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Very well,” he sighed and started toward the bar.

She followed a step behind Eltrys and slightly to his side the way a bodyguard should. She didn’t think he truly needed a bodyguard. He was a wealthy man and could get away with asking questions. However, if he did need a bodyguard then a large man would be more intimidating than her, but it was his money. She followed him trying to keep an eye on everything. She had her hood up to hide her face and that blocked some of her vision, but she didn’t hear or smell anything suspicious.

Frabbi met them before they reached the bar. “Eltrys! You haven’t been here in quite a while. Let me get you a table for you and your… friend.” Before Eltrys could reply she guided them to the table farthest from the bar in a dark shadowy corner. “Here you are. Best table for quiet conversations.”

Eltrys took the closest chair, the one that put his back to the room. Daenerys took the other chair and moved it so her back was to the wall. She wanted to keep an eye on both Frabbi and the room.

“Now, what can I get you and your lady friend to drink?”

“Actually, Frabbi, I just wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Well, now, I’ve been known to get talkative after a drink or two. How about you buy all three of us a round of some Black-Briar Special Reserve, and maybe that will loosen my tongue.”

“Well, um.” Eltrys looked to Daenerys.

No wonder Eltrys needed help. He was awful at this. “Yes, a drink sounds lovely. Three Black-Briar Special Reserve.”

Frabbi tilted her head and frowned. “Danyen? Is that you hiding in that hood?”

Daenerys shrugged. “My, that sounds like a question, and we don’t have our drinks yet. Maybe, I could answer your questions if you answer his questions, but I’d like my drink first.”

Frabbi nodded briskly. “Very well, three Black-Briar Special Reserve coming right up.” There was more snap and less politeness in her words.

“Why did you order for us?” asked Eltrys. “I prefer Honningbrew mead to Black-Brair, and despite the name there is nothing special about the Special Reserve.”

“I know that,” replied Daenerys. She had learned a few things while working as a tavern maid. Black-Briar mead was a bit more potent, but Honningbrew was sweeter and smoother. Black-Briar Special Reserve was made in winter by skimming off the ice. It was a strong brew, but bitter and overpriced as well. “They make a lot of their money off selling drinks. We’re not really paying for drinks. We’re paying for information and her time.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” said Eltrys. “Maybe you should talk to her when she returns?”

Daenerys nodded her agreement. “Very well, I’ll talk to her.” At least she felt like she was earning her gold. By all rights Eltrys should have been the one asking the questions, but he was so obviously clueless about how to go about it.

Frabbi returned and placed a drink before each of them before taking a seat herself and sipping her own drink. “Well now, that hits the spot.” She winked at Eltrys. “Now, aren’t you the flirt? Rhiada back at home with a babe on the way. The mysterious Danyen hiding her face, and now you’re trying to pick me up as well. I have to warn you, just because Kleppr has a tiny prick, I’m not just going to hop into bed with you two. You’re going to have to work for it.”

“What? I? No!” spluttered Eltrys. “I love Rhiada.”

“Eltrys,” interrupted Daenerys firmly. “Let me do the talking.” Or else Frabbi would lead him around by the nose.

“Sure,” agreed Eltrys.

“Well then, I guess I know who wears the pants and who wears the skirt.”

Daenerys had the feeling that Frabbi was being deliberately difficult. “Not at all. Eltrys is a good man and a wise man. Most men are too foolish to admit when they can’t do something well. They’ll jump right into the river without checking for mudcrabs. Eltrys hired me to help him get some answers.”

“Hmm, like Vigilant Tyr hired you to watch his back? What happened to him? The two of you went out and I haven’t seen him since yesterday. He never came back.” Her words became sharper as she went along making it an accusation despite just stating the facts.

Daenerys knew this question was coming and was prepared. “What do you mean he never came back? We parted ways after we killed the scamps. Didn’t he come back here?”

“No, he did not. It sounds like you were the last one to see him.”

“Eltrys! Looks like we found another one for your list. Vigilant Tyr didn’t tell me where he was going, but I thought he was coming back here. Now he’s missing.” She looked over to Frabbi. “He is missing, isn’t he? Did he even rent a room?”

“He did,” agreed Frabbi. “But after he walked away with you, he never returned. Now here you are with a completely different look and hiding your face, mage. What else do you have to hide?”

Daenerys was tired of Frabbi’s suspicion, even if it was warranted. She kept her voice low, but she let her anger and frustration loose. “I’m hiding my face because two of the damn guards thought I was a whore. I didn’t want to wear that dress, but it was all I had. Look, I get it. You don’t like magic and you don’t like mages. I wouldn’t be back, but I need this job. I trusted the wrong man, and when I caught him cheating on me, the bastard threw me out and that smock was all I had. I’m not a whore, and I will not ‘thank’ the guards ‘properly’ for merely not arresting me. All I want to do is to make enough money to money to get back home to High Rock. That means helping Eltrys find some answers about all the people who keep turning up dead in this city. And, if Vigilant Tyr is missing, then he goes on that list.”

Frabbi looked properly chastised by her rant. “Well, I guess men are pigs, even to mages, and you are trying to get back where you belong. Fine, ask your questions, but there is no big secret about who is killing everyone. It’s the damn Forsworn.”

“Thank you, Frabbi. For what it’s worth, I agree, but the question Eltrys wants to know is whether they are killing at random or if there is some pattern. Why Margret? Why Vigilant Tyr? And, why Eltrys’s father?”

“You think I know?” asked Frabbi. “They’re murdering daedra worshiping savages. They don’t need a reason.”

“Yes, but Vigilant Tyr and Margret stayed here. What can you tell us about Margret?”

Frabbi shrugged. “She came from money. She demanded our best room and paid for a full month, in advance mind you. She ordered our best dishes and sneered at them half the time. My daughter may not cook for the emperor’s table, but she’s good. Other than that, nothing I can tell you.”

“What about her room? And Vigilant Tyr’s room for that matter? Has the guard been here yet to search their rooms?”

“Are you joking?” Frabbi laughed. “That’s not going to happen. You know what our guard is like. They keep the scum in line… No offense meant. You couldn’t help it, getting thrown out into the streets, but what did you expect to happen running around dressed like you were?”

Daenerys chose to ignore Frabbi’s casual insults. “Could we get a peek into their rooms then?”

“Well now, I can't just hand their keys over. Privacy, after all.” She looked over to Eltrys.

Daenerys caught the hint. Eltrys was too easy with his money. Frabbi wanted another bribe. “Well, if they’re dead how much to rent their rooms?”

“Hmm, I suppose we’re not sure Vigilant Tyr is dead, but since he hired you to watch his back, I guess I could make an exception. Ten septims for each room. Twenty in total. You can look at Margret’s old room now. There are still some of her things laying around. You’ll have to give me some time to get Vigilant Tyr’s room made up proper.”

Daenerys translated that to mean that Frabbi wanted to rob it first of any gold and valuables. She looked to Eltrys. “Will twenty septims be a problem?”

Eltrys shook his head. “No, I’m good for it.” He reached for his coin purse.

Daenerys felt a lot less guilty about her deal with Eltrys after watching him count out twenty septims without batting an eye. He could afford it.

Frabbi slipped the coins into her apron pouch. “Well now, I’ll get the rooms prepared. I’ll be back with the key shortly.”

Eltrys took a sip of his Black-Briar Special Reserve and made a face. “I hope we find something in their rooms. So far this has been useless.”

“No,” disagreed Daenerys. “Not useless. We learned that Margret is very well off, but the guards aren’t doing anything about her death. That’s not normal. Usually, the guards care when someone rich gets murdered. Did the guards do anything when your father died?”

Eltrys frowned. “No, mother complained about that a lot.”

“Well, that’s a pattern.” She wasn’t just stringing Eltrys along. It could just be Nord indifference to the sufferings of any other races, but maybe there was something else going on.

Frabbi returned with the keys and laid them on the table. “Here you go.”

Daenerys took the keys. “Eltrys, why don’t you stay here? I’ll check them out. I don’t want to start any rumors about you having an affair.”

“Might be too late for that,” teased Frabbi. “But you’re right. Disappearing together would make them ten times worse.”

“So, I guess I’ll just sit here and sip my mead then,” complained Eltrys.

“You don’t have to sip it,” said Frabbi. “Drink up. I’ll bring you another when you’re done.” She turned to Daenerys. “This way.” She walked off without even looking back to see if Daenerys was following her.

Daenerys had to scramble to keep up. She was certain that Frabbi wasn’t this rude to all her customers. Whether it was because she was a mage, a Breton, or poor she didn’t know. Nor did she really care why Frabbi was a bigot.

“That’s Vigilant Tyr’s room,” she said as she pointed out the room closest to the privy and kept walking. “So, who is this man you caught cheating on you? I’ll want to stay away from him.”

“Sagyval,” replied Daenerys spitting out the first Breton name that popped into her mind. He actually wasn’t a bad choice. He was a traveling merchant and sometimes stopped in Markarth. Although he was likely either dead or a vampire now.

“That old goat?” Frabbi laughed. “Oh, dear you aren’t the first and won’t be the last to fall for his honeyed words. I hadn’t heard he was back in Markarth, though. He usually stays here.”

“He found someone else to live with.” Daenerys put all the bitterness she felt about Markarth into her words.

“Ouch, well, don’t fry him with your magic. I won’t say he doesn’t deserve it, but you’ll end up in the mines.” She came to a halt. “And here’s Margret’s room. Best room in the inn. You bring those keys back as soon as you’re done.” 

“Thank you, Frabbi.” She managed a polite tone.

Margret’s room was large, clean, and tidy. The bed was made, and everything was put away as if no one stayed here. She opened the wardrobe and found several nice dresses in it. She found it ironic that one had much the same cut that got her accused of being a whore. The difference was that Margret’s dress was dyed red and had intricate embroidery. The bed was stone carved out of the rock, but it had a thick feather mattress and soft sheets upon it. She found a vanity with cosmetics and was tempted to pocket some of them. They would probably sell them for good money. However, she didn’t want Frabbi to label her a thief. She also suspected that Frabbi had already pocketed the best judging by the complete lack of jewelry and perfume.

She thought it odd that a well-used copy of _Imperial Cyrodilic_ , fourth era, year 195 edition lay upon the writing desk. Daenerys was wearily familiar with that dictionary. She had to use it a lot when she was learning to read and write under Gerdur’s tutelage. The only difference was that Gerdur’s had been an old year 153 edition. It was a thick and heavy book, not the kind of thing that one carried around for casual reading.

After some more searching, Daenerys found a crumpled-up paper that had fallen behind the desk. She retrieved it and smoothed it out. What the hell was this? The top half of the page was a series of numbers, but it wasn’t a ledger. There was an odd pattern to the numbers. They came in pairs. The first of the pairs ranged in the hundreds, but the second was usually under twenty. The whole thing ended after just a few lines with a frustrated scribble. Apparently, the writer, presumably Margret, had made a mistake and started over. In the middle of all the numbers, she spotted three letters: t S-B. That she could guess at. S-B had to be Silver-Blood. These had to be initials. So, who was t S-B? It suddenly hit her that she wasn’t looking at anything financial. This was a code. Did that mean Margret was a spy? If so, for who? This was certainly a clue. However, a code this complex had to have a key. Did Margret have it on her? Or had she missed it.

Daenerys decided to try Clairvoyance. It was a tricky spell. It usually required that one had a good knowledge of a destination place, person, or object and the spell would provide the path even if that path led through unknown areas. Margret’s code key was an ill-defined target, but that might be enough if it was hidden in this room. Daenerys summoned her Will, Focused, and used the complicated double-think Seeming of convincing herself she already knew the answer. To her surprise the spell worked and pointed directly at the dictionary. She grabbed the book and leafed through it. No papers fell out, nor were there any in the binding… Then she cursed herself for a fool. This was a book of words, with page numbers. She looked at the first pair. 352-17. On page 352 the 17th word was ‘meeting’. Daenerys quickly flipped through the dictionary and started writing down words.

> Meeting at the treasury house tomorrow. Took them long enough. These people act like they own everything. t S-B is the younger brother, but he's obviously the one in charge. Makes all the deals, bullies local landowners into selling to him. Even employs that girl at the door to deter trouble-makers like me. I am

The rest was blotted out in a frustrated scribble. Daenerys left the dictionary and stuffed the translated note in her beltpouch. Eltrys was probably wondering where she was by now, but she went to Vigilant Tyr’s room rather than returning.

The vigilant’s room was a small rectangle of a room, barely large enough to move around the furniture. Its contents consisted of a bed, a chamber pot, a wardrobe, and a small table. It didn’t take long to search the room. She found a prayer book titled, _Daily Meditations on Stendarr’s Mercy_. She also found a packet of letters. Glancing through them they seemed to be reports about suspected daedra and monster infestations from all over Skyrim. She glanced at one of them about a series of murders in Windhelm. It sounded serious, but it lacked details. Daenerys shoved the whole stack of letters into her beltpouch. She could study them later.

She returned to Eltrys and found Frabbi at his table. She was standing up and leaning over to talk to him in a way that gave him a view right down her cleavage. There was no way that was accidental. Daenerys cleared her throat. “I’m done. You can have the keys back.”

Frabbi took them from her and dropped them into her cleavage rather than her apron pocket. “Well, I hope you found what you were looking for.” She walked off with a deliberate sway of her hips and immediately started berating her husband loudly.

Daenerys moved her chair closer to Eltrys so they could speak quietly and sat down. “I did find something in Margret’s room. She was a spy for someone. I have no idea who, but she was planning to meet with someone called t S-B at the treasury house. Her notes refer to t S-B as the younger brother, but he’s in charge.”

“Thonar,” said Eltrys. “Thonar Silver-Blood. My wife Rhiada works for him in the Treasure House. He’s a very important man. The Silver-Bloods are the strongest clan in Markarth. Do you think they’re involved in these murders?”

“I have no idea. Maybe we should ask your wife?” That seemed obvious to her, but Eltrys was not impressing her. “What does she do at the Treasury House? For that matter, what kind of business is the Treasury House?”

“They call her an assistant, but if the Treasury House were a tavern, she’d be a tavern wench. The Treasury House is one of the few banks in Skyrim and the richest. It’s backed by all the silver in the Cidhna Mines. They make loans to many of the clans and rich merchants. They’re powerful men, and they don’t like to be kept waiting. So, having a pretty young woman serve them drinks and something to eat keeps them in a good mood. Or that’s how she describes it anyway. She’ll have to quit soon. It won’t be long until she’s starting to show.”

“Well, it sounds like she would be in position to hear if anything was going on. You wanted answers. Are you scared of your wife? Or, getting cold feet now?”

“No, no. I want answers. I just wasn’t expecting where this would lead…” He fiddled with his mug a bit. “I didn’t really want her involved, but it’s getting late. I haven’t even told her yet that I’m looking into things. I do need to get back home, so… I’ll talk to her tonight and let you know what I find out when we meet up tomorrow.”

“Very well, you’re the boss, boss.” First rule of mercenary work, the boss was always right unless he was going to get you killed, then it was every mercenary for themselves. Still, she had trouble believing Eltrys. He was paying her fifty septims a day for a few hours each evening? “So, let’s not meet at the Shrine of Talos tomorrow. I’ll be uphill from the smelter by Ghorza gra-Bagol’s smithy.”

“That sounds fine. Can you look into Weylin tomorrow during the day? It’s not like I helped much tonight.”

Daenerys had to agree that was true. For fifty septims a day, she could poke her nose around the Warrens. “I suppose I could, but what do you expect me to do?”

“Same thing you did here. Ask questions. Search his room. Talk to Garvey for that. He runs the Warrens. It might help if you tell him that I sent you.”

“It would also help if I had a few coins to bribe him. Twenty should do.”

“Fine, fine.” Eltrys reached for his purse and counted out the coins. “This is costing me more than I expected.”

Daenerys felt a little guilty, but she shrugged and pocketed the coins. She was a mercenary now after all. “Yes, and Margret was a spy who died. You have me poking into her death. This is dangerous work.” Which was all true. “I’ve also produced more results than you expected in a single night.”

He nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”

.oOo.

She insisted on walking Eltrys home. He’d hired her as a bodyguard, so she was going to do her job. After that she returned to Molag Bal’s house. She passed a couple of guards, but apparently her mage robes worked. They did nothing more than look her way suspiciously.

Rather than going straight to sleep, she opened up the packet of letters she’d found in the vigiliant’s room. She started with the mysterious murders in Windhelm. Three women had died, and their bodies had been cut apart, but the report lacked details. Vampires were skulking about the hills of Winterhold. Jarl Kraldar was trying to hunt them down without much success. In Dawnstar someone was opening a museum dedicated to the Mythic Dawn, the cult to Mehrunes Dagon. The Mythic Dawn had been behind the Oblivion Crisis and had almost destroyed the world. All the Vigilants had were rumors, but they requested anyone in the vicinity to investigate. She found a letter mentioning a corrupt house in Markarth, no doubt this letter had brought Vigilant Tyr to Markarth. The other letters had even less detail. The Glenmoril Witches had been spotted in Falkreath. Some boy in Windhelm was performing the Dark Sacrament. Vampires were looking for a place called Dimhollow crypt which was located somewhere in northern or western Skyrim.

She even found a note about herself. They had her name, that she’d killed a dragon by Shouting, and that she might be associated with the Red Comet in the sky. The note was almost two months old and didn’t even mention that she was going to see the Greybeards. The note urged any vigilant who encountered her to try to recruit her support. Nothing about the Dragonguard, Al-Du-In, or more recent events.

She slept restlessly again. She dreamed again of the dragon of Helgen, Al-Du-In, but not in Helgen. Instead, he fell upon a city built upon a marsh. He ravaged the town, not even doing it to feed. He just burned it down as surely as she had destroyed King’s Landing. She found herself fleeing from his attack and following a path through the mountains. The opening to the path was disguised by clever stonework so it looked like a solid wall, but up close it revealed a narrow ravine. She heard the shrill cry of a bird and the rustle of wings. She saw an exquisitely beautiful woman with dark black hair and skin as pale as ivory lying in a stone tomb, but she was still alive. Upon her back was a scroll that unrolled…

Daenerys awoke screaming. She couldn’t remember what she saw on that scroll but even the glimpse of it unrolling in a dream made her feel like a tiny insignificant grain of sand upon an endless beach. She looked down and found the mace of Molag Bal had returned to her side within easy arms reach. That didn’t even really surprise her. She didn’t think the chest would hold it. She was surprised when she looked at the tattoo on the back of her left hand to find that there were now three birds inside the cage. Apparently, Karliah had recruited another Nightingale.


	8. Chapter 7

# Chapter 7

Turdas, the 7th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Ghorza gra-Bagol wasn’t happy to see her until Daenerys showed her that she had the coin to pay for a suit of leather armor. After that it just haggling. Daenerys agreed to pay 200 septims up front and the rest after her armor was fitted. Ghorza considered herself an artisan and wanted Daenerys to choose a theme for her armor. Daenerys longed to say dragons, but that would be far too revealing. She finally decided upon fire since she was a spellsword, but she declined to have her armor dyed red. That would stand out far too much. The initial fitting took a couple of hours and she was to come back in a week when the armor was done. Daenerys pushed Gorza on the time, but the orc wouldn’t budge. The armor had to be cut, shaped, boiled, allowed to dry, riveted together, and assembled before the final fitting. In addition, Ghorza had promises to other customers to keep. Daenerys was sure Ghorza could have her armor ready sooner if she offered more money. Unfortunately, she could barely afford the armor as it was.

It was approaching noon by the time she reached the Warrens. She had expected the Warrens to be like the other buildings in Markarth, old Dwemer construction being reused just with more people living there. She was only half-right. The Warrens was an old Dwemer building, but it was half-collapsed by a cave in. There wasn’t even a door. Just a hole in the rock. Inside the entrance the hallways were half-filled with dirt and debris and the whole thing was askew. The floor sloped up and the ceiling sloped down. The roof was solid rock, but the way it slanted made it look unsafe. It was probably no less likely to collapse than some of the Nord barrows she had explored, but she wouldn’t want to live in this place. However, many people, both individuals and entire families, called the Warrens home.

She was accosted as soon as she entered by a Breton wearing clothes so worn that they were almost rags. His face was scruffy, not a beard but not clean-shaven. His red hair was tangled and greasy looking. “The Warrens isn't a place for your type. What do you want?”

“I’m looking for Garvey,” said Daenerys.

“Well, looks like you found him. I’m Garvey, but I don’t know you, and you’re too well off to stay here. This is where you go when you can't afford a room anywhere else.”

Daenerys considered telling Garvey that she had been very close to sleeping in the Warrens. However, she didn’t want to explain where she had been living or how she had acquired a house with an altar to Molag Bal hidden beneath it. “I’m looking into the death of Margret, the one Weylin killed. Do you have any idea why he did it?”

“You’re searching for ore in a dead mine, lady. We don’t ask too many questions down here. It’s not healthy. Weylin kept to himself.” He shrugged. “We pretty much all keep to ourselves.”

Daenerys nodded in sad understanding. She’d knew what that was like all too well. It had been a long time ago, but she’d never forget living on the streets as a small child. She doubted this would lead to anything, but she’d promised Eltrys to investigate. “Can you show me to his space?”

Garvey shrugged. “I could, but why should I?”

“I can think of five good reasons,” said Daenerys. She reached into her purse, counted out five septims, and held them out in her hand.

Garvey snatched them from her hand. “Those were some good reasons, come on. This way.”

He led her over the uneven floor. Instead of a privy they had an indoor cesspit right out in the center of the main hallway. These were the poor and wretched of Markarth. Most of them were Bretons, but she also saw Nords, Redguards, and a few Orsimer. Their clothes were well-worn when they were not rags. The inhabitants ranged in age from infant to old, but the very young and very old were more common than adults. Despite the squalor three young children, two Breton girls and a Nord boy were laughing and playing tag. The rest mostly huddled in family groups around small fires. Her heart went out to one old Nord shivering under a blanket and coughing.

“Garvey, wait a second please.” She squatted down next to the old man. “You sound sick. Why didn’t you go to the Temple? The Dibellans would have healed you.” Yes, there was a suggested donation, but she had never heard of the temples turning away the ill.

“Too many steps,” muttered the old man. “Too tired to even walk, let alone wait in the line.” He coughed. “Just a cold. I’ll get better.” He coughed again. “Soon.”

Daenerys doubted that this old man would get better. Not without help. “You’re right. You will be getting better soon.” She placed her right hand where her amulet should be, reached out to touch him with her left, and called upon Talos to heal him. Magic flowed through her and into him.

The old Nord gasped and sat up straight. “Gods, bless you, Priestess! Thank you. Thank you so much! Which god do you serve, ma’am?”

Daenerys held a finger to her lips. “Shh, the one we do not name in Markarth.”

“You mean?”

Daenerys nodded.

“Our jarl’s a fool. May the Nine bless you and keep you safe, Priestess.”

Daenerys rose and found Garvey looking at her. “If there are any others sick or injured, I want you to show me to them after I’ve seen Weylin’s space.”

Garvey dipped his head low. “Yes, Priestess. I’m sorry, I thought you were a mage. If I had known… I wouldn’t have spoken as I did.”

Daenerys shrugged. She wasn’t really a priestess. Not even an acolyte. Nura Snow-Shod had been going to train her, but she’d never had a single lesson. Well, possibly half a lesson. “It’s fine, Garvey. I’ve heard much worse. Now, where is Weylin’s room?”

Garvey led her over some rubble, past two little family encampments, and deeper into the Warrens. He stopped when they came to a little alcove between two larger pieces of rubble. There was nothing there but a wooden chest with a padlock on it. “Well, this was his space. Looks like someone already took everything but his chest. I’m surprised they didn’t loot that. We don’t have much theft down here, but you don’t need your stuff once you’re dead. That was his chest. I don’t have a key to it. I hope you can pick locks.”

Daenerys looked at the chest and frowned. “I can’t. I guess I’ll have to come back with a crowbar or a hammer…” For a moment the top of the chest was hidden in shadow. When the shadow cleared, Molag Bal’s mace was resting on top of it. “Or I could use that.”

“Gods!” exclaimed Garvey. “Where did it come from? Is that ebony? By the Eight! That must be worth a fortune!”

“Don’t touch it!” warned Daenerys. “It’s mine. It’s enchanted. It has a habit of finding me when I need it.”

“I’ve never heard of an enchantment like that! Oh, think of the possibilities. You could sell it, then leave town and call it back.”

Daenerys set down her staff and picked up Molag Bal’s mace. “That would be stealing, Garvey. I’m not a thief. Don’t tell anyone about this mace. It’s important. Do you understand me?”

Garvey nodded his head up and down. “No, but I’ll do as you ask, Priestess.”

Daenerys sighed. She really wished Garvey hadn’t seen the mace, but she wasn’t going to kill him for it. So, his agreement to keep silent would have to do. She took the mace and smashed down on the lock. The lock not only shattered, but the heavy wood of the chest cracked as well. Daenerys squatted down, deliberately set Molag Bal’s mace aside, and opened the chest.

The chest was mostly empty. She found a few wizened apples inside, some eating utensils, a wooden bowl, flint and steel, two candles, and a bag that held a collection of small odd shaped leathery objects. She held one in her hand and turned it over and over. Then she realized what it was. “They’re noses!”

“What?!” shrieked Garvey in disbelief. “No, no, that’s bad.”

“He had a bag full of human noses in his chest.” Daenerys had seen much worse than human noses taken as trophies, but from Garvey’s reaction there was a deeper meaning to it. She brandished the nose she had at Garvey. “So, what does this mean? Some kind of Reachman thing?”

Garvey backed away. “No! Maybe? You’re new in Markarth. Put that down, and I’ll tell you.”

Daenerys dropped the nose into the box with the others. “It’s down. Now, explain.”

“So, when the Nords returned to Markarth, and the Silver-Bloods reclaimed the mines, a lot of Bretons died in the confusion, mistaken identity they say.” He snorted. “One of the richest Bretons who survived was Nepos. He was in tight with the Silver-Bloods. Helped them out. Married a Silver-Blood lass and was almost adopted. Had some Silver-Bloodlings. What he did the most was run their security. He had spies everywhere in Markarth, or so they say. That’s how he got his name, Nepos the Nose. Well, just a little over a year ago, Nepos was killed in his home along with his guards, his wife, and two of his children. The important part is this. The killers cut off their noses. Ever since then more and more Nords have been turning up dead. Not just beggars and ruffians, merchants and others. Most of the time when they turn up dead, they’re missing their noses! Weylin didn’t just kill Margret. He’s killed who knows how many. Most people think the killers are Forsworn, but it’s a mystery.”

Daenerys frowned. “If Weylin has killed so many times, why did he get caught this time?”

“Why are you asking me? How would I know? Maybe because he attacked the woman right there on the plaza in front of the guards instead of sneaking into homes at night?”

Daenerys decided that she needed to have a talk with Eltrys. These kind of details would have been good to know. He had mentioned the killings getting worse about a year ago, but he had not mentioned that was when the killers had started targeting Nords.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” said Garvey.

Daenerys frowned. “Oh, and why not?”

“Because the Markarth Guard will come down here and start beating people up for answers. Answers that no one down here will have because everyone minds their own business.”

Daenerys mulled that over for a moment. Eltrys had hired her to find out answers. While she believed the answer was simply the Forsworn – Nord – Breton hate triangle, this was certainly a clue. Wasn’t she obligated to tell Eltrys? No, she decided. Eltrys lost his father years ago. His need for answers didn’t justify unleashing the guard on these people. “Very well, Garvey. You keep quiet about my mace. I’ll keep quiet about the noses.” She picked up the bag and put the nose inside with the others. “Do you want to dispose of this bag, or shall I?”

“You do it, please, Priestess. Toss them in a privy, burn them in a fire. I don’t care. Just get rid of them. I’ll keep your secret, and you can keep this one.”

Secrets in the dark, binding them together. Despite it being warm inside the Warrens, a chill went through her. For a moment she remembered sharing secrets with Brelyna back in Winterhold. It had only been six months ago, but it seemed like forever. Was Mephala listening and smiling now? Brelyna had tried to explain that Mephala was a complex god and not the simple villain the Nords painted her as, but Daenerys was tired of Daedric Princes. Maybe she wasn’t a priestess of Talos yet, but she had chosen her god, or maybe he had chosen her.

She shook off the feeling that something was watching. “Garvey, I need you to do something for me. Go buy a blanket, or something so I can wrap up my mace. I’ll pay five septims for it.” Which would buy a blanket or two.

“Why don’t you just leave it here?” asked Garvey. “It will come back to you.”

“It’s not a weapon you just leave lying around.” She put an edge into her voice.

“Sure, Priestess. Whatever you say, ma’am.” He hurried off.

While he was gone, Daenerys mulled over what to do with the damned mace. She obviously couldn’t rely on it staying put. A mace wasn’t like a sword that could be sheathed, especially not this mace with the blades and spikes. Normally you just hung a mace on your belt, but that was obviously out. She would need to get some leather or thick cloth to wrap it in and start wearing a backpack at all times so she had a place to stow it. She briefly wondered if she could send the mace away as easily as she could call it to her, but she doubted that would work unless she had faith in Molag Bal. There was no way she was praying to him. Ever.

Garvey returned carrying a worn bedroll. “Will this do, Priestess?”

Daenerys nodded. “Yes, that will do just fine, and you can call me Danyen.”

“Of course, Priestess Danyen.” He handed her the bedroll.

Daenerys rolled the mace up inside. It made a big bundle, but she could carry it. While it might look a little bit suspicious, it was better than carrying an ebony mace through the city. “Thank you, Garvey. Now, if you would just show me to everyone who is sick or injured, I’ll heal them, and then I’ll be on my way.”

She followed Garvey around the Warrens. She had expected there to only be a person or two that needed healing. However, there were four sick people who needed healing. One of them was only an infant. There were also two that had injuries. One was a Breton that looked like he had been beaten to within an inch of his life. The other was lame. She couldn’t entirely heal the lame man. His bones had healed wrong, but her healing did ease his pain. She doubted it would last, but he was very grateful. In addition to the sick and injured many came forward just asking for her blessing and advice. She gave blessings in the name of the gods, being careful not to specify which gods. Let them decide whether she meant the Eight or the Nine. The requests for advice were harder, but not much different from when she held court in Meereen and everyone would come to her seeking answers. She did her best and advised them to do the right thing even when it was hard.

She was also more than annoyed with the Temple of Dibella by the time she was done healing. She heard too much talk about long lines waiting for healing at the temple. It also hadn’t escaped her notice that many of those living in the Warrens weren’t merely skinny, they were starving. Perhaps not to death, but they simply weren’t getting enough to eat. The Temple of Dibella was very wealthy. They could and should be doing more to help the people of Markarth. She knew the Temple of Kynareth helped the poor and homeless in Whiterun. They handed out soup and bread once a day. It wasn’t much, but it was more than the Dibellans were doing. It angered her enough that she decided to do something about it. That feeding the poor would also be the exact opposite of what Molag Bal would do was just the extra drop of honey in her tea.

First, she had to deal with Molag Bal’s mace. She bought a backpack and a leather hide and returned the mace to the house. While she was there, she filled up the backpack with food. She had cleaned out most of everything of value in the house, but the storeroom still held barrels of simple foodstuffs: flour, apples, potatoes, and even mead. She filled the back full, walked back to the Warrens, and gave it away to those who seemed the most in need of it. Their gratitude was even more overwhelming than when she healed them. She had a whole afternoon to kill before her meeting with Eltrys, so she went back to the house of Molag Bal, filled up her backpack again and made another trip. She intended to make a few more trips, but after her second trip a large Nord warrior was waiting for her as she left the Warrens.

He was a huge man. Most Nords were a head taller than her, but she didn’t even come up to his breastbone. He made himself look even taller by wearing his auburn hair in one of those mohawk style crests except for a little skinny little braided ponytail in back. He was wearing leather armor designed for comfort instead of full protection: a cuirass to protect his chest, pauldrons for his shoulders, and full tassets to protect his thighs. However, his arms were bare as were his legs from mid-thighs to his calves. She would never wear such armor, but the heat never bothered her. He wore no facepaint and his face was scruffy, neither the clean-shaven look that Imperials favored, nor the beard that almost all Nords wore. The glare he gave her was full of anger and distaste.

“You've been digging around where you don't belong, mage.” He had a rumbling voice like the growl of an angry dog. “It's time you learned a lesson.”

He looked impressive, but she just wasn’t that intimidated. She could kill him in many ways: Shout him down, burn him with her magic, or even let her wolf roam free. She probably couldn’t take him with her staff, but she was dressed as a mage. If he came at her with weapons, she had every right to retaliate with magic. Of course, that had also gotten her thrown in the Chill, so she would rather avoid it. So, she attempted reasoning with him. “And what lesson is that? Not to heal the sick and injured? That I shouldn’t feed those who are starving?”

“The warren dwellers? These scum?” He spat upon the stone. “Why bother feeding them? They’re Reachers; let them eat each other. They are cannibals living in their cave just like the Falmer. I don’t know why they haven’t sent the guard in and just dug them all out of this hole. They like holes? Throw them all into the silver mines. At least we’d get some useful work out of them that way.”

Daenerys clenched the staff in her hands at this Nord’s prejudice and blindness. She had done a lot of wrong in her life, but even her worst crime, even when she burned King’s Landing, she had been convinced that it was for the people. She knew that she would never win their hearts, so she would have to rule through fear – but that she fully intended to rule in the best interests of the many, to force justice on the noble, to feed the poor, and to build a better world… Madness, but not petty cruelty. She wanted to strike out at him, but she held herself back. He was obviously picking a fight.

“Well then, I’m glad that I am not you. I will heal them because they hurt. I will feed them because they are hungry. None of which are illegal, so kindly let me pass.”

“Maybe you’ll listen to this!” He came at her, not with a weapon, but with his fists.

Daenerys swung her staff at him. She had tried out some other weapons when training with the Companions before settling on a mace, but she had never used a staff as a weapon before and had no clue how to use it. Still she managed to hit the angry Nord with it in his unarmed upper arm. Not that it did any good. He shrugged it off and punched her in the face.

Her face exploded in pain as her jaw slammed shut and felt almost ripped out. She staggered back and barely kept her feet only to get punched in the tit. She reached for her magic and channeled healing as she did calling out for, “Talos!” as she did. Her magic filled her and with it came clarity.

“Don’t say that name! You Forsworn scum!” He reached out and grabbed her quarterstaff from her hands and tossed it aside.

Daenerys knew she wasn’t that skilled in the arts of combat. That’s why she wore armor, cast spells, and hired better warriors than herself. While she was stronger than most men, this warrior was strong, fast, and skilled. She had to quit playing his game. Just as if she asked for it, the heavy weight of a mace appeared in her hand. This time she knew exactly what it was, but even knowing that she still brought down the full weight of Molag Bal’s made upon the Nord’s unarmored knee. A blow to the knee wouldn’t kill him. She felt very satisfied when she heard bone snap. 

The Nord was bigger, stronger, and faster than her, but he still collapsed to the ground when she crushed his knee. “Ah fuck me. You’re dead, bitch. Dead. I’m going to fucking kill you. Then I’ll rape your fucking corpse.” Despite his words the Nord wasn’t going anywhere. His knee was bloody mess and the white of bone showed through.

“Priestess!” hissed a voice behind her. “You should go. Now. Before the guard get here.”

Daenerys backed away and to the side, looking to see who was talking while not losing site of the injured Nord. He had stopped cursing and was now threatening to make her his three-hole bitch.

Garvey stood in front of some of the other residents of the Warrens. “Please, Priestess Danyen, you must go. The guard will come down on all of us for this.”

That wasn’t right or fair. She might have broken the law since he had only come at her with his fists, but she wasn’t even sure how that worked out under Nord custom or Imperial law. However, she did know how Nord prejudice worked in Makarth. She looked like a Breton, but had injured a Nord, so she was guilty. She could easily believe the guards would take his side and harass the people who called the Warrens home. “Very well, I’ll go.” She slipped off her backpack, and wrapped Molag Bal’s mace inside a piece of leather. As she covered up the mace, she could almost hear Molag Bal urging her to smash in the Nord’s brains and take his skills for her own. Whether that was his voice, or just temptation, she ignored it. She tied the leather wrapped mace into a bundle and stowed it in her backpack. She was very much aware that several of the warren dwellers had seen the mace. She held a finger to her lips. “None of you were here. None of you saw anything.”

She received nods and agreements from the Eltrys and the other inhabitants of the Warrens. The Nord who attacked her was still cursing. He moved on from threats of rape and was now threatening to cut her into little pieces and feed her to the skeevers. However, he had also wrapped his knee in a bandage and didn’t look like he would by dying any time soon.

She picked up her staff and took a step closer to him. While she had no skill in using a staff as a weapon it did have the advantage of reach. “Who sent you?” she demanded.

“No one sent me, bitch. You just don’t know your place.”

Daenerys shook her head. “Like I shouldn’t have been ‘digging around for answers’. No, you sought me out. Someone sent you.”

This time he finally shut up and just scowled at her.

“You know, knee injuries like that are notoriously difficult to heal. The longer you wait, the more likely you’ll end up lame. Maybe it will be you living in the Warrens this time next year. I could heal that knee.”

“I have friends in Markarth. I don’t want or need your help.”

Daenerys was tempted to try to beat it out of him or just to simply kill him. She wasn’t Molag Bal, and some people did deserve mercy. However, letting this man live felt more like stupidity than mercy. On the other hand, she was inside the city of Markarth. Just killing him would be murder, and she still had a small crowd of people watching her. They were people that looked up to her, not as the Dragonborn, but as a Priestess of Talos. Despite all the arguments for and against, it came down to the fact that she refused to send any more souls to Molag Bal. She had to be better than she had in the past. While she was certain she would see him again, she walked away and left him to his pain.

She returned to the house of Molag Bal because being off the streets in a house that most people ignored seemed like a good idea. She spent some time trying to put pieces together. Weylin had certainly been a killer. From the nose trophies, he was involved in the group that killed Nepos the Nose and some others. That group targeted Nords and were probably Forsworn, but they might just be a group of Bretons that got fed up. The death of Eltrys’s father and other Bretons didn’t fit that pattern, but it did fit with Nepos having ordered it done while cozying up to the Silver-Bloods. She really couldn’t find a mystery there, just ruthless politics. Blood begat blood begat more blood. It was about power, control, and money, or silver in this case. Silver and blood. Those were the words of Clan Silver-Blood and they summed up Markarth quite well.

Gods, she wanted to leave this town already. In Riften she’d had power, reputation, allies, and a plan before everything had gone to Oblivion. She wondered how Saerlund was doing. He would make a better jarl than his brother, Harrald, but Riften was a mess of problems that would take years to fix. She learned that the hard way in Meereen. If Sanguine hadn’t whisked her away to Markarth, she would be there sharing some of her hard-earned lessons and propping him up with the reputation of the Dragonborn. Not to mention that Sofija was now leading the Dragonguard. She had been the only possible choice, but Sofija wasn’t ready for that burden. That’s where she should be.

However, hoping and wishing wouldn’t get her out of Markarth. Her armor would be ready in a week, but at this rate she wouldn’t be alive that long. She wanted to blame Eltrys, but she was the one who took the job with him. Besides, she’d made waves of her own: mistaken for a whore, last person to see Vigilant Tyr alive, her encounter with Mathon in the alleyway, and now busting up a thug’s knee. She wondered if that was illegal. He had come at her with first. She’d been the one to use a weapon. Maybe she should hide out in Molag Bal’s house for a week until Ghorza had her armor ready? She had enough to pay the armor off, barely enough, but enough. There was still plenty of food left in the house. On the other hand, she had given her word to Eltrys. She had even spent his money already, but… Eltrys was rich. He wouldn’t miss the money. Wasn’t getting out of Markarth and dealing with dragons more important? How much was her word worth? It wasn’t like she had never lied or deceived before. The masters of Astapor could attest to that, except that they were all dead. However, they had been slavers, men who had picked and preyed upon the weak. Molag Bal would have liked the masters of Astapor. Besides, the gods had given her a second chance. She wasn’t going to make the same mistakes this life. She had to do better. No, she had to be better.

Despite her misgivings Daenerys left the house of Molag Bal behind and set off to meet Eltrys at their agreed meeting place. She left early so she could take the long way around through alleys and sidestreets, but she still arrived early. It was a good place to meet. Just outside the series of stairs that led down to the foreign district. She found a niche where she could stand so her back was up against the solid stone from the mountain. From her hiding place she could see much of the foreign district laid out before her. The smelter was still running and men scurried about as busy as ants. She settled in to wait.

Eventually, the smoke from the smelter died down. The workers made the last pour of the day. Half the men left then while the others set the molds aside in a solid building guarded by three men. Gradually the other men left heading home for the day. From her perch up high she could easily spot Eltrys by his bright blue clothing. No one else wore anything that fancy. He was one of the last to leave. She also saw five Markarth guards start toward him. She would never reach him in time, but she could warn him.

She rushed over to the top of the winding stairs and yelled out to him down below. “Eltrys! Look out! It’s a trap!”

She was close enough to see the fear on his face and see him look about and spy the guards rushing in toward him. He panicked and started to flee. She didn’t have eyes in the back of her head, but she heard the tromp of feet both to her left and right. Turning she realized that there were guards coming down from up and behind her. Standing at the top of this stair was not a good place to fight. She tossed her staff aside and leaped off the cliff. As she fell, she Shouted, “ ** **Feim****!”

The world faded around her and turned into ghostly shades of black and white. Although she knew that it wasn’t the world that had faded. She had faded, leaving this world, stepping slightly outside of it and into the greater whatever it was beyond. She hit the ground and didn’t feel a thing. The guards swung their weapons at her, and she ignored them. They couldn’t hurt her. She had eight seconds of invulnerability. The ignored four guards hit her with their swords as she passed. Their blows did nothing.

She returned to the real world just as she reached the guard standing over Eltrys. He was injured, maybe dead. Daenerys felt the weight of Molag Bal’s mace in her hand. She raised it up to fight. The last time she had surrendered meekly to the city guard, they had tried to rape her. However, she couldn’t bring it down. It was futile. She was surrounded. There was no escape. Even if she killed this guard, where was she going to run to? She refused to send this guard’s soul to Molag Bal. Deliberately, she let go of the mace and let it fall to the ground.

“What have we done?” she asked. “Eltrys just wanted to find out who killed his father. We haven’t done anything.” She could hear the guards coming up behind her, but she was trapped. The wolf howled within her, but she didn’t let the wolf free. She would save the wolf for later.

“You asked too many questions,” replied the guard.

She sensed the blow coming from behind and tried to dodge it, but something hit her in the side of the head and the world started spinning. She fell to her knees. Desperately she channeled healing, but a boot came down in her face and she knew no more.


	9. Chapter 8

# Chapter 8

Fredas, the 8th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys winced as she awoke. Her head was pounding like some small animal had crawled inside her skull and was banging with a hammer to get out. For a moment she thought she was back in the Temple of Dibella, but the hard rock floor she was laying upon was much less pleasant than the soft bed in the temple. Her jaw ached and she had a loose tooth. She couldn’t see much, but she was in some kind of cell. There were bars in front of her. Heavy chains linked the cuffs on her wrists to the manacles on her ankles. She reached out a hand to push herself up and encountered something sharp. When she looked down, she found Molag Bal’s mace had followed her again. She pressed against the wall instead and leveraged herself up into a sitting position, swayed, and leaned against the wall. She remembered rushing to save Eltrys, and a fight, but what happened after? Where was she?

After a little while the spinning died down, but she still felt unsteady as if she was on a ship at sea. She took several slow breaths and looked around. She was in a tiny cell. Not deep enough to lie down in, not tall enough to stand up in. She had just enough room to crawl around and little more. She was tempted to heal herself, but there was a guard right outside her cell and he was watching her. That made her put aside any thoughts of healing herself. Healing magic let off a golden glow. It wasn’t that bright, barely noticeable in daylight, but in this dark room the guard would certainly notice. She decided to watch, wait, and learn.

She was wearing prisoner’s sackcloth. That meant someone had stripped her naked and dressed her, but at least she hadn’t been beaten, tortured, or raped. At least not yet. Looking out she could see other cells like hers. They stood two rows tall, just large enough to stuff a person into. Judging by the angle, she was in the top cell because she was on eye level with the guard.

She couldn’t see the guard’s face due to his helmet, but it looked like he was staring at her. He was most likely a Nord based on his height and build. He did not wear the chainmail and circular shield with the ram’s horns of the Markarth guards. Instead, he wore leather reinforced with steel plates. The armor was popular among Nords, lighter and cheaper than steel plate. His left hand was free, but a kite shield lay on the floor next to him leaning up against the wall. The shield depicted a crossed red hammer and pick dripping blood upon a field of silver - the emblem of the Silver-Blood family.

Between the Silver-Blood soldier and a rough-hewn cell, it was easy to guess where she was. Criminals in Markarth were sent to the silver mines for the slightest crimes. Senna had told her that mere vagrancy carried a six-month sentence. While that was better than being handed over to the Thalmor, she wondered what the sentence was for asking questions and resisting arrest.

“You, prisoner,” said the guard with a voice that sounded familiar. “I’ve been warned that you are a daedra worshiper. There are two other guards right outside this cell, so don’t get any funny ideas.” He glanced around before walking up to her cell. He was as tall standing as she was sitting in the upper cell. He placed one finger in front of his mouth in a hushing gesture. He lifted his helmet and revealed his face.

No wonder his voice was familiar! She knew him. “Mathon?” she whispered.

“I can’t free you, but I owe you, priestess, and I don’t believe you’re a daedra cultist. I can let you heal yourself, but you should do it quickly.”

Daenerys didn’t need any more prompting. She quickly channeled healing magic. The ache in her head and her jaw went away. Along with the headache went the feeling of being seasick. “Can you tell me how long I’m in for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’m just a guard. I don’t make decisions around here. I can’t let you go. There are other guards and... I’m sorry.”

Daenerys wanted to yell at him for not doing more, but alienating a guard who was secretly her ally wasn’t smart. If she was patient there might be a better chance to escape later. “What about Eltrys? What happened to him?”

“He’s in the cell below you. He got beaten worse than you, but he’s alive.”

That was at least a little bit of good news. “Would you let me out to heal him? I’ll give you my oath to Talos that I won’t try to escape.”

“That could get me thrown into the mines with you!” he hissed. “Gods. Fine. Make your oath, priestess.”

“As Talos is my witness, I swear that I will do nothing more than heal Eltrys, and then will return to my cell without a fight.”

“Gods, I must be a fool.” He took a key and unlocked her cell door.

Daenerys climbed out and dropped to the floor. She landed on her feet and immediately stretched her hand through the bars. She touched Eltrys and channeled healing into him.

Eltrys woke up and starting stirring. “Danyen? Where am I?”

“Shh, the guard let me heal you. That’s all. Don’t make a fuss about it, or they may beat you up again. Stay quiet, be patient, and follow my lead.”

“I don’t understand,” replied Eltrys.

He was healed enough. Daenerys stood and looked at Mathon. She could Shout at him or summon the mace, but two guards waited outside, and she’d given her word. “Could you give me a boost?”

Mathon didn’t bother with a boost. He just picked her up so she could climb back in. He closed the door behind her with a clang. “There. I helped you. We’re even now.”

Daenerys wasn’t letting him off so easily. She turned and looked at him. “Are we? You have taken the first steps to redeem your honor. Was this little bit of aid truly worth your life?”

Mathon shoved his helmet on. “I can’t do anything else. There are other guards and gates. I might be able to slip you something later in a few days or so.”

Daenerys nodded her head at him. “So, you say. It’s not me you have to answer to, it’s the gods.”

“I’ll try,” replied Mathon. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

Daenerys curled up on her side. She knew that having a secret ally among the guards was a good thing, but she still felt bitter. She had refused to yield to the temptation and go down swinging Molag Bal’s mace. It had been the right thing to do, but she might have escaped. If she had Shouted. If she used the mace. If she had set the werewolf inside her free. Five guards in front of her. More coming down the stairs. As a werewolf she could have killed them and then… what? Kill the whole city? Flee over the wall? Or more than likely been caught and immediately killed as a murderer or a werewolf. She hadn’t had much time to think it over, but it had been the right choice. Hadn’t it?

She had done nothing wrong that they could prove. She had defended herself when attacked. They didn’t have the corpse of Vigilant Tyr. Her main crime had been to ask questions. If vagrancy was punishable by six months in the silver mines, how bad was asking questions? It wasn’t like she had even found anything shocking. The Forsworn were killing Nords. Bretons were dying in return. None of that was really a secret. After wallowing in doubt and second-guessing herself she tried prayer. It wasn’t like there was that much else she could do, but she couldn’t recapture the peace of mind she’d found in the Temple of Talos. Eventually, she slept a little despite the discomfort of the stone floor.

Sometime later, she was awakened when several guards wearing the same armor as Mathon marched into the room. Most of them were Orsimer and the rest were Nords. The guards hauled Eltrys out of the cell below her, then they opened her gate, pulled her out by her chains, and dropped her on the floor.

“Get up!” yelled an angry-looking battleaxe of an orc female. She had more muscles than most male Nords even if she was shorter and green.

Daenerys pushed herself up. She had seen enough of soldiers in training to realize that these guards would probably want to make an example, so she complied quickly. Eltrys didn’t move as fast as she did.

The female orc punched Eltrys in the stomach. “When I give an order, follow it!”

Eltrys folded and would have collapsed, but two of the guards grabbed him by his arms and held up upright.

“All right, prisoners!” called out the same orc female who seemed to be in charge. “Eyes front both of you. You're in Cidhna Mine, now. I don’t care if you used to be some fancy-dancy rich man or a prissy priestess of Talos. We expect you to earn your keep. There's no resting your hide in a cell in this prison. Here, you work. You'll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars. You got it?”

Daenerys nodded her understanding. “I’ve got it.”

“When will we be released?” asked Eltrys.

All the orcs laughed at that. It was the same female who replied. “You’re here for murder. You two will never see the light of day again.”

“But, we didn’t kill anyone,” protested Eltrys. “We were trying to find out who was behind the murders.”

“And we don’t care. Now shut up about it. You keep it up, and I’ll have your toes cut off.”

Daenerys gave Eltrys a look and shook her head slightly. It was unfair, and they didn’t murder anyone, but he needed to shut his mouth. Bound in chains and outnumbered like this was not a time to fight. However, she also remembered that being compliant and going along with guards had almost gotten her raped. She kept her eyes open hoping for an opportunity to escape.

The orc waited a bit and then she smiled. “Good. You might live a little while down here. Take them away.”

They were forced marched down a corridor to an intersection with a tunnel that led down. The tunnel was poorly lit but some of the guards slung their shields on their backs and carried torches. Daenerys was thankful for the light because there were tracks on the floor for minecarts. Walking in manacles was hard enough without trying to avoid tripping over the wooden slats. Even being careful she still stumbled more than once. Eltrys didn’t just stumble. He fell twice. After the second time, she kept a grip on his arm and helped him walk.

The downward tunnel took them past two raised portcullises. Each was solidly built of thick iron. They were widely spaced allowing for many men to be trapped in the tunnel between them when they were lowered. Shortly past the second portcullis was a third portcullis, but it was lowered blocking their path.

The orc captain came to a halt. “End of the line. You two wait here. We’ll lower the middle portcullis and unlock you. Then we’ll raise the bottom portcullis and you two go on down and get to work.”

Daenerys quickly stepped away from beneath the second portcullis and gave Eltrys a tug to make sure he hurried as well. Once the middle portcullis had lowered completely into place, the guard captain came forward. She unlocked Eltrys first and then her.

“Raise the lower gate!” she called out. “As soon as it’s raised, get moving. Remember, you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“Ma’am?” asked a guard. “Should we give them a torch? The switchback is dark.” He looked the same as the other guards, but by his voice it was Mathon who asked.

“You want to give them a torch? Fine. Give them yours.”

Daenerys grabbed the torch Mathon passed through the portcullis quickly least the orc captain change her mind. “Thank you.”

Mathon gave her a nod through the portcullis and walked away.

She turned to Eltrys. “Let’s go.” She waited while the final portcullis was raised and ducked under and past as soon as it was raised high enough. Eltrys had to duck lower, but he followed her.

She was thankful for torch as she led them down. The tunnel was steeper here and without the torch they would be stumbling along. Hopefully, Mathon would continue to aid her. Eltrys followed as they continued down into the dark.

The portcullis dropped behind them with a loud crash of iron against stone.

“Be alert,” warned Daenerys. “They no doubt heard that below. Stick close to me. I can’t protect you if you wander off.”

“You’re still going to protect me?” asked Eltrys clearly confused. “We’re not getting out of here, I’m never going to be able to pay you.”

Daenerys shrugged. The money didn’t matter. Not anymore. “Yes, I’m going to protect you, as best I can. I gave my word.”

“Thank you,” replied Eltrys. “For staying by me. I’m sorry that I got us into this.”

Daenerys blamed herself more than Eltrys. “You can repay me by sticking to me like I’m your wife. I know you’re married, but I doubt there are many women down here. Most men will force a woman if they think they can get away it… Come on, enough talking, let’s go find out what’s waiting for us.”

The tunnel past the portcullis went through three switchbacks before it finally arrived in a large cavern. In addition to the mine tunnel they’d descended from there were three other exits to the chamber. Each exit was blocked by a set of iron bars. One barred exit lay directly in front of them, one to their left and one to their right.

Behind the bars in front of her was a large bare-chested orc male. His face was painted white to look like a skull which only made him look more intimidating in the dim light.

She glanced quickly to her left. Behind that set of bars, two Nord men regarded her. They were large and their beards were huge and unkempt. One of them took off running.

“Oi! Bretons!” shouted a voice from the third opening. “Over here! Hurry. You don’t want to be with them! We take care of our own.”

Daenerys glanced over and saw two men. The one waving at her was obviously a Breton even if he wore his hair in the mohawk style, but the man beside him was a Redguard by the color of his skin.

“I know how you want to take care of her, Odvan!” called the Nord from the left tunnel. “You’ll all ‘take care’ of her. Don’t listen to him, lass! We Nords still have honor! We won’t make a whore out of you!”

“What do we do?” asked Eltrys.

The bare-chested orc started laughing.

The prisoners had obviously split up into gangs. The gang with the orc was obviously out. That meant the Breton/Redguard side or the Nords. Given the way Nords treated Bretons in Markarth, Daenerys didn’t trust them. “We go with our own kind, Eltrys! Where else?” She said it loudly so that everyone would hear. She put her words into action and hurried over as fast as her manacles would allow dragging Eltrys with her.

“Odvan!” yelled the Nord. “You can’t have her! You’ve already got two whores. We haven’t had a woman on our side in too long! We will go to war over this!”

“Looks like you’re unlucky again, Grisvar! You’ll just have to keep buggering Skorjan,” taunted Odvan. “Both of you hurry up, we need to get you through.”

Daenerys and Eltrys reached the gate. From the cussing behind them, the Nord was still at his gate. She looked at the two men. Odvan seemed fairly young and fit although he was awfully skinny. The other Breton with him was old and bald and looked like skin and bones. The Redguard reminded her of one of her Unsullied, lean and muscled, but he looked at her like he was starving and she was a three-course meal. “What does he mean you already have two whores? Am I safe with you?”

“Yes!” assured Odvan. “We take care of our own. Gisele was a whore before she was thrown in the mines. Jeanylle decided she’d rather earn her keep screwing than swinging a pickaxe. We didn’t make either of them do anything. It was their choice.”

She noticed that the Redguard looked away. She didn’t like what she was hearing, but she had three choices and all of them were bad. This one seemed to be the least bad. She held out her palm and called forth a small flow of flame and let fire dance in her hand. “Anyone tries to force me, and they’ll regret it.”

“We won’t! I mean, we get it!” Odvan agreed. “Hurry, the Nords have enough to raise their gate.”

Daenerys wondered what he was talking about for a moment. Then she realized that while the gate wasn’t heavy enough to be true portcullis it opened like one lifting up into the rock above. She dropped the torch, bent down, and grabbed the bars. “Eltrys! Help us.”

Together they all lifted. The gate was heavy, but they got it over her head, but no further. That was enough. Daenerys shifted so she was standing on the other side and when Eltrys was through she let go. The gate came slamming down with a loud crash. She made her choice, and she hoped it was the right one.

Although she was not comfortable with how close they were all standing. “Back up! Give me some space!”

They all did as she asked, even Eltrys.

A loud cheering came from behind and Daenerys turned to see a crowd of Nords rushing into the main chamber while two of them held up their gate.

“Give us the girl!” demanded Grisvar as he led the charge.

Daenerys stuck her hand through the gate. She didn’t bother with intimidating him. She was going to make an example. She called upon **Yol** , Fire, and mixed it with **Fus** , Force, to cast a Firebolt spell. It didn’t explode like the more powerful Fireball, but when it hit Grisvar he went flying backwards screaming and burning. “I am NOT anyone’s whore or plaything.”

In the silence of the room, the only sound was the bare-chested orc’s deep booming laughter.

Grisvar was moving, so he was alive for now. Although he might still die from his burns. Daenerys didn’t particularly care. She turned back and saw that they were all staring at her with fear. Even Eltrys looked scared. “Treat me with respect as a fellow prisoner, and we won’t have problems. I’ll even heal your sick and wounded.”

“Yes ma’am!” agreed Odvan.

“Now, who is in charge down here?” asked Daenerys.


	10. Chapter 9

# Chapter 9

Fredas, the 8th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

“Well, ma’am… If by down here, you mean you mean who is in charge of the entire mine? Then, no one,” said Odvan. “We’re divided into three gangs. The Nord gang, the Forsworn, and then there is us. They call us the Breton gang, and that’s fair because more than half of us are Bretons, but we take everyone else. I’m more or less in charge of us Bretons. I have enough men who answer to me to beat heads if needs to be done.”

“I see,” said Daenerys. She had also seen Odvan slip his right hand behind him. Unless she was mistaken he had a weapon in his hand now. Clearly, he was wondering if she was about to challenge him for leadership. He looked nervous, but he was standing his ground.

“I beg forgiveness, Odvan,” interrupted the Redguard prisoner standing beside them. Despite the polite phrasing, his tone was firm, and he didn’t sound at all sorry. “We Redguards are our own gang. We are your allies, not simply because of necessity, but because you have brought order to your people. We still follow your lead, Odvan.” His eyes flicked to Daenerys and then back to Odvan. “You have done well as a leader, but I speak for my people.”

“Yes, Azeem, I know your people follow you. I was merely making things simple. No offense was meant.”

“I accept your apology,” said Azeem.

The banter between them was amusing. There was a familiarity to it. The comfortable back and forth of friendship. It spoke of their being a society of sorts down here which was better than anarchy even if it was just the crude order of a gang. However, that did not distract her from the fact that Odvan’s hand was still hidden and Azeem was gripping a mining pick tightly. They thought she was a threat to their rule. They were right. She could take them in a fight, probably without Shouting or releasing her werewolf. However, she didn’t want to take over. She had no understanding of the politics down here, and no desire to lead a gang.

“My wants and needs are simple: a place here in your gang for myself and Eltrys, food to eat, a place to sleep, a clear understanding that I am no man’s whore. If I have concerns, I will take them to you, Odvan. I’m sure we can come to an understanding. I will pull my weight. You have already seen that I have a talent for Destruction magic. I am not a mage, but a Priestess of Talos. I can and will heal your sick and wounded. I am can also support you if the Nords go to war as Grisvar threatened.”

Both men relaxed when she identified herself as a priestess of Talos. When she agreed to support them in war, Odvan started smiling. “I’m glad to hear that. Everything that you asked for will be given to you. That’s the same deal everyone gets. Everyone who works gets food to eat and a place to sleep. My people break up fights. No woman gets forced. I’m glad to welcome both of you to the Breton gang.” He slipped something into his belt and offered an open hand to her. “I’m afraid that I didn’t get your name.”

“Danyen, Priestess of Talos.” She clasped his hand and returned his firm grip.

“Glad to have you, Priestess Danyen. Glad to have you.” He shook her hand and then shook hands with Eltrys. “Good to have you, too, Eltrys.”

Azeem took her hand as a gentleman would a lady, holding it lightly. He bent down as if to kiss her hand, but his lips didn’t touch her hand. “It will be good to have a priestess of our own.”

“Yes, it will!” agreed Odvan. He either lacked the skill to hide his glee or didn’t care. His smile was wide and he looked like a child that was told that he could have an ale like the grownups. “And don’t worry about Grisvar. He’s full of shite, unless you blew it all out of him. We all hate the Nords. The Nords hate us back, and none of us trust the Forsworn either, but no one really goes to war. It takes at least two strong men to lift those gates. While you’re lifting, someone can stab you with a shiv or swing a pickaxe at ya. Doesn’t mean things are peaceful. Everyone keeps their gates guarded, but sometimes we open them to trade. That’s when things sometimes get bloody.”

“What would you have to trade down here?” asked Daenerys.

“Corpses, for one. The damn Forsworn are cannibals. They’ll eat our dead and pay us in ore or water. And water is another thing we trade. The guards never give us enough. The Forsworn found a water seep in their tunnels about two years ago. They’ll trade water away for silver ore or food. Healing is another. The Forsworn had the only healer, a priestess, Eola. She follows Namira, or the Rat as the Forsworn prefer to call Namira. Eola can heal, but she charges a lot of ore – unless you agree to join her for a meal, or provide a corpse for one.”

“You trade your dead away to be eaten?” Daenerys couldn’t entirely repress the horror she felt at the thought of cannibalism. Tamriel was full of wonders and in many ways a better place than Planetos, but in some ways it was even worse

Odvan shrugged. “People die down here. We have to work hard to meet the quota to have enough to eat. Mining is dangerous. Tunnels collapse. Rocks splinter when you hit them with a pickaxe. Wounds get infected. Or we just get sick. We used to throw corpses in the latrine. Now we trade them for ore or healing. I don’t like it, but we haven’t had much in the way of choices. Most of the time we haven’t been able to pay the Rat Priestess. People just have to tough it out and hope their wounds heal instead of festering. You’re going to be real popular. Nobody will give a damn that you serve Talos either. It might make the Nords more likely to come pay us for you to heal them rather than go to the Forsworn. Would you heal Grisvar if the Nords paid us?”

“Heal the man who wanted to make me a whore?” She did not want to. He hadn’t gotten close to touching her, but his plan had been clear. He wanted her to service the entire Nord gang. However, she didn’t need it spelled out to her that the Breton gang could use the resources. She took a slow deep breath and let it out first. “He would have to apologize first, like he meant it, but I’ll do it.”

Odvan laughed. “He might rather suffer, but the fact that you serve Talos could change his mind.”

“Do you do much trading with the Nords?” she asked, mostly to change the subject.

“A little… They’ll sometimes pay us to let one of theirs come visit Gisele or Jeanylle.”

Daenerys frowned. “I’m going to want to speak to those two sometime soon. I want to know just how willing they are to be whores.”

Odvan held up his hands. “Hey, I’ll let you speak to them. It’s their choice. I can’t say they’re entirely happy with their lot, but none of us are. So… Eltrys, you a priest as well?”

“No, I used to supervise at the smelter, so I know silver ore, but I’ve never mined it. I suppose that I’m going to have to learn how and earn my keep?”

Odvan clapped Eltrys on his back. “That you will. Don’t worry, we’ll show you how. There’s not much to explain. You hit the rocks and dig out the grey shiny ones. It’s boring and hard work.” He looked over to Daenerys. “As for you, we’ll carry your share. If you heal our sick and injured, that’s more than enough. I suppose I should show you both around and find you a place to sleep. Azeem, would you mind the gate?”

Azeem nodded. “Of course. I will stand watch.”

.oOo.

Perhaps because of her experience when she was sent to the Chill, she had expected prison to be more dangerous. After all, she was locked up with criminals. However, as she got to know them, she found that most of the prisoners were simply guilty of being Bretons. Not all of them. Many of the men were in for theft, either pickpocketing or burglary. There were surprisingly few fights. Most of them were over who had the next turn with the two whores.

While Daenerys was suspicious of the arrangement with the women, she had talked with both Gisele and Jeanylle. Gisele wasn’t ashamed of what she did. She even had a taunting attitude toward it. Jeanylle was bitter but resigned to her lot. She preferred whoring to mining but clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Although, she would gladly talk about anything else. Daenerys was also horrified to learn that Gisele was raising a toddler in the mine, and Jeanylle was expecting. Gisele at least was due to be released soon. Her crime had been plying her trade in the alleyways. Jeanylle was in for much longer. She’d been a servant in the home of a Nord merchant, and some silver goblets had gone missing. Jeanylle had been blamed, but she suspected the younger son had done the theft. Jeanylle was also thrilled to have Daenerys present not just as another woman to talk to, but because she had been worried about giving birth without a midwife. Apparently, being a priestess automatically qualified Daenerys as a midwife even though her only experience with childbirth had been Rhaego’s premature stillbirth.

After she healed everyone who was sick or injured, life in the mines proved to be mostly boring. There was no sun, no sky, and very little to do. She spent a lot of time practicing her magic. She also had many seek her out for advice. As a priestess she was expected to be wise and provide counsel. They didn’t seem to listen when she told them that she was only an acolyte, so she found herself listening to the problems and confessions of strangers. The pattern that emerged was that most of them had been given the butt end of the bread loaf from the start. There were few jobs for Bretons and all the good positions in guilds went to Nords or well-connected Bretons. Elsewhere on her travels, people had been worried about the dragon threat or the Stormcloak Rebellion. These people had been too worried about scraping by to the next day to worry about those things.

Every sad story she heard made her more and more angry at the Nords of Markarth. There was much to admire about the Nord people: their bravery, the way they treated women, their love of family, and how they expected more from their leaders. However, their prejudice toward all the other races and their arrogance was just as ugly as that of the Thalmor. When Grisvar did come to ask for healing, Daenerys was tempted to let him die, but she healed him. Not because she thought he had changed, but because the Bretons could use the ore to meet their quota.

Life in the mines settled into a dull routine, but it was not entirely peaceful. While some of the Breton gang were innocents imprisoned merely for being Bretons, others were a few violent criminals, and not everyone agreed with Odvan’s leadership. Two fights broke out during her first three days for stupid reasons. Partly over her special treatment although no one was foolish enough to bother or proposition her. Word about her blasting Grisvar with a firebolt got around quickly. The fact that she was a priestess and a healer probably helped as well. Eltrys didn’t have her protection. He was at the center of one of the fights and got his ass handed to him. From what she could gather he had tried to defend her honor from some lewd comments about how it felt to screw a priestess. In typical male fashion, Eltrys refused to talk about it.

Without the sun the passing of days was measured by the daily exchange. Every morning the guards would come down heavily armed. One at a time each gang would have a chance to bring out their ore and receive food, water, and other supplies in exchange. The other supplies included skooma to her dismay. About half the Breton gang used skooma when they could get it, which wasn’t often. The Breton gang had a little more than three score members while the Nord gang probably had a little under two score, but the Nords mined just as much ore every day. Odvan believed the Nord tunnels just had richer silver veins by chance. The older inmates claimed that the Breton tunnels had once held richer veins, but they had mostly played out. Daenerys found it suspicious that even in prison the Nords got the better share. As above, so below.

Nobody really knew what was going on with the Forsworn gang. Odvan believed they were the smallest, perhaps as little as a score because they simply didn’t produce that much ore. According to the rumors that was largely because of Eola, the priestess of Namira. The Forsworn were apparently eating each other in addition to the corpses of those who died in the mines. Based on the bulging muscles and general fitness of Borkul the Beast, the bare-chested orc who guarded their door, Daenerys believed it. Everyone else in the mines was scrawny at best. Three days after she was sentenced to the mines, a messenger from the Forsworn came and stood outside the gate to the Breton territory. The Forsworn wanted to parley.

A parley between the gangs wasn’t completely unheard of, but they didn’t happen often. The last one had happened two years ago when the Forsworn had announced that they would start trading silver for corpses. The one before that had happened five years ago. The Nords had encouraged everyone to come together, ambush the guards, and escape. That attempt had failed miserably, and the guards had withheld food for an entire week in retribution. After some negotiating, Odvan agreed that Borkul the Beast, Eola the Priestess, and one other would be allowed into Breton territory. In return three Bretons would submit themselves as hostages and be held by the Forsworn.

Daenerys waited on the Breton side of the gate with Odvan, Azeem, and the three men that had agreed to be hostages. The absence of the sun or any way of telling time beyond the daily exchange of ore for food made the wait feel longer. The Nords clearly knew something was up as they had several men guarding their end of the tunnel, including Grisvar.

The sound of Forsworn gate going up got everyone’s attention. Daenerys was impressed that Borkul the Beast managed to lift the gate by himself when it usually took two to three people to lift one. Two Forsworn moved beside Borkul and took over supporting the gate. Borkul started walking toward him. Following behind Borkul was a woman, who had to be Eola, the priestess of Namira. She wore matching facepaint to Borkul, a white skull. Daenerys wondered if that meant they were lovers. Matching facepaint was something young Nords couples in their teens or early twenties did. Or maybe it meant they both followed Namira? Regardless, Eola looked creepy which was undoubtedly her intent.

Odvan sighed. “Time to see what they want. Let’s open it up.”

Odvan and Azeem grabbed the portcullis and started straining to lift it. Daenerys joined them. Even with three of them lifting it was still heavy. The two men struggled to hold it open, but she was too short to help much there.

“Send the hostages,” said Odvan his voice strained as he held up the gate.

Daenerys cleared out of the way. “Go on,” she urged the two Nords and the Redguard that had volunteered as hostages.

“Hey!” yelled Grisvar from the Nord side. “We see you! What’s going on? Showing your true colors are you Bretons? For all you claim to be different from the Forsworn, you go running for your own kind.”

Eola held up a hand and shot out sparks of lightning in Grisvar’s direction. They didn’t reach him, but they still made an impressive display. “We are all Namira’s children down here. You, too, Grisvar. We were cast out, unwanted creatures, living in the dark, existing off table scraps. We will talk to you another day. Unless you want to offer yourself as the meal, you are not welcome this day.”

While the jagged arcs of electricity had looked impressive in the dimly lit cavern, Daenerys recognized it as a novice level work, a Sparks spell to be precise. She wondered if novice level spells were the limit of Eola’s capabilities or if she could cast more devasting spells. Her display certainly shut the Nords up, and there were no more interruptions as the Forsworn made their way through the main cavern and to the Nord side.

Once their guests were all in Breton territory Odvan led them to a side tunnel that had played out many years ago. Normally it was used as barracks for some of the Breton gang’s better warriors so they were close to the gate. The sleeping pallets had been removed and crude furniture put in place for this meeting. Some of the lumber beams that were used for shoring up tunnels had been stacked up to form two benches facing each other. A few blankets had been tossed over the benches to make them more comfortable, and an empty water barrel had been placed in the middle as a table. Several torches were lit providing more than the usual amount of lighting. It still wasn’t comfortable, but for the mines it was luxurious.

As the Forsworn party entered, Daenerys finally got a good look at the third member of their party. He was an old man, white of hair with a bushy white horseshoe mustache to match. His age was hard to place. Maybe his hair was prematurely aged due to the hard life in the mines. Despite having wrinkled skin, he still had the fit body of a warrior. Even more interesting was the fact that he seemed to outrank both Borkul the Beast and Eola the Priestess. Something that was confirmed for Daenerys when they worked out seating for this parley. The old warrior sat first. Eola sat down at his right side, and Borkul walked behind the bench and stood silently and to the old warrior’s left.

Odvan sat down facing the old warrior. Daenerys sat to his left so she was directly facing the priestess of Namira. Azeem remained standing and to Odvan’s right facing Borkul so that their party mirrored the Forsworn envoys. The water barrel in the center was rather useless as a real table. It was too small to accommodate food or drink, even if they’d had some. However, it did serve as a useful demarcation, dividing the chamber into two sides.

For a little while no one spoke. Eola smiled at her and showed a lot of teeth. Daenerys studied her in return. The priestess was younger than she first looked, merely in her twenties, and would be pretty if she didn’t have a white skull painted across her face. The dirt and grime of the mines didn’t help either.

Odvan spoke first. “So, perhaps we should start with introductions. I believe that I am well known, but I am Odvan and I speak for the Breton gang. With me are Danyen, Priestess of Talos, and Azeem. Both are my counselors.”

The old man chuckled. “I suppose we should observe the niceties. I believe that my companions are well-known to you, Borkul the Beast is my strongest warrior and my second. Eola is a Priestess of the Rat, and she tends to the hearts of my people. As for me, I am Madanach and I speak for all the Forsworn in the Reach.”

“Madanach?!” exclaimed Odvan in disbelief. “You can’t be Madanach. He’s dead. The Nords killed him decades ago when they reclaimed Markarth. Everybody knows that.”

The old man shrugged. “It’s surprising how many things ‘everybody knows’ that are actually false. Like everybody knows that you’re a murderer.”

“I didn’t kill anyone before I was sentenced down here. I was sleeping off some mead at my aunt’s house. It didn’t stop them from arresting me and throwing me here. I didn’t even know the man they claimed I killed.”

“Exactly my point,” agreed Madanach. “How many of your gang have similar stories? We were all tossed down here into the darkness to work until we die.”

Odvan seemed dumbstruck and floundering, so Daenerys decided to step into the conversation. “I’ll agree that many of us are down here for no crime of our own, but your story is still hard to believe. Why would the Nords ever leave you alive?”

A hint of anger crept over his features. “I was betrayed by one I trusted. Nepos sold out my people to the Silver-Bloods to avoid prison. He convinced the Silver-Bloods that as long the Reachmen believed that I was still alive, that they could be controlled. To the Forsworn, he claimed to be loyal to me and to be receiving messages from me in the mine. He used that to usurp my place, to order the Forsworn to attack not my enemies, but those of the Silver-Bloods.”

Daenerys briefly wondered if Eltrys would be happy when she finally told him who had killed his father and why, but it honestly wasn’t that important to her. Telling him would also have to wait until after this parley was over. “But something changed, about a year ago. Nepos and his family died.”

“You are quite right. I finally did manage to find a way to communicate to my people.” He broke into a wide smile that showed a few missing teeth. “Nepos and all those loyal to him have been purged. Although the Silver-Blood fools still think some of the Forsworn serve them. They’re fools. Soon, all the Forsworn in the Reach will once again answer to me, and on that day that I reclaim my throne we will make Markarth ours again.”

Daenerys glanced over to Odvan and waited three breaths. When he didn’t say anything, she asked the question that was obvious to her. “Why tell us? You have kept your survival a secret for this long. What has changed?”

Eola giggled like a young girl. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Madanach gave Eola a glare that silenced her. “What she means that a part of it is due to your arrival, a healer is worth twenty warriors. Another part has to do with timing. We’re escaping Cidhna Mines, and we’re doing it soon. We’ll have to fight our way out, and more warriors would help. The Bretons suffer under the boot of the Nord stepping on their throats as much as we Reachmen do. We’re all slaves together, join us and fight. I made a mistake once, I treated the Nords with kindness. I will not make that mistake again. We will cleanse the city of their kind and reclaim our homeland! A land where Reachers and Bretons will be free from Nord oppression. War is gathering in the east. The Stormcloaks are rebelling. The Empire will gladly recognize us if we but declare for them. Now is our chance! We must seize it, or it will pass us by.”

“No,” said Odvan shaking his head. “I hate the Nords as much as you do, but you’re talking madness. Even if we joined forces, even if the Nord Gang joined with us, even with two healers, we could never fight our way out. It was tried five years ago, and twice more before that. We know what will happen. They’ll drop the portcullises and seal off the mines. Then, they’ll bring in the entire Markarth Guard. They’ll torture the leaders to make some examples and leave the rest of us down here to work. There is a reason no one has escaped Cidhna Mines.”

All of the Forsworn started laughing. It was Madanach who explained. “Many of my people have already escaped. This city that we call Markarth is built on the ruins of Dwemer city of Nchuand-Zel. What Nords claim as their city is but the ice on the surface of a lake. Like all Dwemer cities the bulk of Nchuand-Zel lies deep below. One of our tunnels broke through to ruins of Nchuand-Zel almost two years ago. The city of Nchuand-Zel is full of Falmer, and many of the old Dwemer defenses are still functioning, but my people found a way out to the surface.”

Daenerys felt her heart leap at the thought of escape. She had only been imprisoned in this mine for a few days, but already she longed to see the sun again. However, something didn’t add up. “Then why are you still here? Why do you need our help? Why risk telling us?”

Madanach smiled. “Questions, questions. If I satisfy your questions, will you fight with us?”

“Yes!” agreed Odvan instantly. “Any chance at freedom is worth it.”

Daenerys felt herself growing angry with Odvan. Madanach was playing them, and Odvan was falling right into it. He’d just undermined their power to negotiate. She quickly tried to claw some of that power back. “Not so fast! We need those answers. We won’t blindly sacrifice our lives. Why do you need us?”

“Because, there are Falmer and Dwemer constructs between us and freedom. We cleared a path before at the cost of many lives, but now the Falmer are stirred up. We haven’t had a messenger get through in two weeks. We need to push through into the city and see what happened. That’s where we need your help. We have some weapons. We will arm you, but we need help to fight past the Falmer and to the outside.”

“No, that doesn’t explain. Why do you need _our_ help? Yes, I’m a priestess. Yes, we have many prisoners who are willing and able to fight for our freedom, but if you’ve been in touch with the outside for more than a year, where are your people? Why don’t you have hundreds or thousands of Forsworn pouring into the mines? With those kind of numbers, you could force the portcullises and invade Markarth.”

Borkul growled, but Madanach nodded. “A fair question. The Forsworn are divided. I wanted to do just as you said, pour thousands of warriors through Nchuand-Zel, force the portcullises, and storm Markarth from the inside. However, some of the chieftans don’t believe I’m alive. We only received less than a hundred warriors from the closest villages. They came and left. They were supposed to return with an army, but that has stretched out for months. I thought word of my survival would be enough, but I’m going to have to leave the mines, knock some heads together and gather the army. I can’t do that in here, and we lost too many to the Falmer. That’s why we need your help.”

“Thank you, that makes sense.” It explained why the Forsworn needed their help, and if Madanach himself was leaving with them, then it most likely wasn’t a trap. However, she was curious about his plan to return. “If we all abandon Cidhna Mine to fight our way through the Dwemer ruins, the Silver-Blood guards will notice. We’ll have perhaps a day, two at most until they explore and find Nchuand-Zel.”

“You’re right, of course,” agreed Madanach. “That’s why we’ll both have to leave enough people behind to continue mining. When I return with an army, all who will remain will be set free. No Breton or outlander need fear under my rule. It is the Nords who will learn what it feels like to have the boot on their neck.”

Daenerys nodded her understanding. That made more sense. If the Nords discovered the tunnels beneath Markarth, Madanach couldn’t use them to bypass the city walls. “And how many warriors will the Forsworn be bringing?”

Madanach frowned. “I don’t believe you need to know our numbers until we have an agreement.”

“And I don’t believe we need to throw down our lives without knowing the strength of our allies. We’ll have to leave at least half our own behind or our silver production will drop too much. That’s about thirty warriors. How many of your own will you be risking?”

“We will send twenty men,” replied Madanach.

“So, the Breton gang will be contributing more than half the men, poorly armed and armored, against an entire city of Falmer who are ‘stirred up’. Is that correct?”

“I thought Talos was the god of heroes,” said Eola with a slightly mocking tone. “Are you afraid to fight for your freedom?”

“No, I’m not afraid, but I’m also not a fool. I’m not going into battle without knowing my allies and my enemies.” This was just basic strategy. How did Zurin Arctus say it? “If you know the enemy and know yourself, do not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

Madanach snorted, “Did you read that in a book? How about I make that simple? Know your own men. Know who you’re fighting, or you’re fucked. Look. I’ll make it simple. We’ll bring twenty men and Eola. You bring thirty men and Danyen. That’s fifty men and two priestesses to heal them. Against that we have a city full of Falmer and Dwemer constructs. Fortunately, the Falmer don’t do tactics. They’ll hide in tunnels and ambush us. They’ll come at us in waves of attackers trying to overwhelm with numbers, but they’ll never bring their full might against us. With fifty men we can punch through. We’ll lose some along the way, but I wouldn’t be going myself if I didn’t know we could make it through. Some of us will die, but the rest of us will live free. Would you rather stay behind?”

“No,” replied Daenerys. “I want to be free as much of the rest of us. Now that we have our tiles on the table, we can discuss the details.”

She still didn’t trust the Forsworn. She also didn’t like the idea of allying with cannibals and daedra worshipers. Although that last point was hypocritical given that she had dealings with Clavicus Vile, Hircine, and Nocturnal. She shouldn’t judge them for their religion, but Molag Bal had opened her eyes to just how evil daedra could be. She also couldn’t overcome her disgust at the thought of cannibalism, but for a chance at escape, she’d hold her nose and work with the Forsworn.

“I don’t see that we have many details to discuss. Put a weapon in my hand, and I’ll fight,” declared Odvan. “And almost every Breton will say the same.”

“And every Redguard,” agreed Azeem. “And the few of the other races will agree. Only the short-timers might object.”

Daenerys frowned. “We need to discuss how many we contribute. Thirty men was an estimate. Why should we contribute more than the Forsworn?” Did Odvan know nothing of negotiation? “We must leave enough that our jailors won’t get suspicious when silver production drops. Also, what are we going to tell the people who stay behind? How will we keep someone from ratting us out to the guards in hopes of getting an early release?”

“We will handle it,” said Azeem. “Myself and my Redguards. They’re loyal to me. If we stay as a group, we can control the rest. I’ll place my people near the gates, and they’ll do the daily silver and food exchange. If anyone objects, we’ll deal with it. If the guard question us, we’ll say we had a dispute about who was in charge and some people died. They’ll believe it. Especially with me being the face that will speak with them instead of Odvan. It won’t be the first time one of the gangs had a bloody change of leadership.”

“I like that,” said Odvan. “The next one up to be released is Gisele, and she’s not up for at least a month. I don’t think anyone else is up to be released for another three months, so we’ll have time.” He looked to Madanach. “Will your troops come through before then?”

“I have to find out why they’re not here yet first. I suspect some chieftan is trying to take over.”

Azeem shrugged. “If it takes longer, I will just tell the guards Gisele died. I doubt we’ll have any complaints that we don’t release her.”

Daenerys didn’t like that bit. Gisele was raising a toddler in the mines who had never seen the sun. However, she also understood that they couldn’t trust Gisele to keep her mouth shut once she was released. It was Gisele and her son’s freedom balanced against everyone else. She was trying to do better, to be a hero, to be worthy. However, she knew that rulers couldn’t keep their hands perfectly clean. Sometimes ruling was about choosing the lesser of evils.

She also wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of the Forsworn taking Markarth. Yes, Nord rule of Markarth wasn’t just. She knew that. She had experienced that herself. She had been looked down on and despised since she left the Temple of Dibella. This war between the Reachmen and the Nords was centuries old, but the Nords in Markarth had tended that crop of prejudice and hate. If Madanach took Markarth they would just reap what they had sown. And yet… innocent people would suffer. The innocent always suffered in war. She was trying to redeem the stain on her soul from burning King’s Landing. Helping the Forsworn sack Markarth was not a good thing, but she wasn’t a martyr to toil in prison when she could escape. She just wanted a better way, or at least a better deal.

“What if it takes months?” she asked. “Azeem, how long do you think you can sit on the rumors? How long until someone tells the guards? What if Madanach can’t convince the Forsworn to follow him? Those who stay may stay in the mines forever. What if we just took everyone and collapsed the mines behind us? Even some of the Nords might fight with us then.”

Madanch scowled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, priestess. First of all, collapsing tunnels isn’t easily done. It’s not too hard in principle. You have to foolishly dig while standing beneath the rock, but a whole tunnel doesn’t cave in that way. Probably just enough rubble to kill the one digging. We’d have to have a dozen or more people sacrifice their lives to bring down a tunnel. Even if we could, I wouldn’t do it. I want that tunnel open so we can retake Markarth. No, we leave enough behind to keep up the pretense. Otherwise, none of you leave.”

Daenerys knew she’d just been slapped down hard. She hadn’t known that trying to trigger a collapse would require deaths, but she should have guessed that Madanach wouldn’t want to expose that tunnels exist under the walls. “It seems you leave us little choice. I thought you wanted our help.”

“I do. I will return. I will be leaving some of my own followers behind as well. It will not be forever, just for a few weeks, a couple of months at most. When I return with an army, I’ll set all the prisoners free.”

Daenerys had the sense that she was losing Odvan and Azeem. She’d lost face over her blunder about collapsing tunnels. “And when we’re out we’ll be surrounded by your men and dependent upon you? What guarantee do we have?”

“You have my word.” Madanach spit in his hand and offered it to Odvan. “Do we have a deal?”

Odvan spit in his hand and clasped palms with Madanach. “We have a deal.”


	11. Chapter 10

# Chapter 10

Morndas, the 11th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys had expected an alliance like this to require more negotiations, but once Odvan and Madanach agreed things fell into place quickly. The hardest part would be hiding thirty people from the Breton gang going over to the Forsworn tunnels from the Nord gang. After a short debate about whether they should even try to hide, everyone agreed that the Nord gang was too likely to rat them out to the guards. They decided to have a fake war. Daenerys wasn’t happy with the plan. A fake war could too easily escalate into a real one, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

Her role was to keep the Nords from leaving their tunnel. She and two Redguards along with Eola and two Forsworn camped outside the Nords tunnel. That helped block their view, and ensured the Nords didn’t try to intervene. She wasn’t happy to be working with Eola or having to deal with Grisvar.

“What’s going on, Breton bitch?” demanded Grisvar. “Are you Brets finally showing your true colors?”

Daenerys lit up her hand with fire as a warning. “A trade. They made us a very good offer.” It was actually an excuse for wedging open their gates with the lumber provided for shoring up tunnels. That was something the gangs rarely did. It served as an excuse for Bretons and Foresworn to march back and forth carrying silver from the Forsworn to the Bretons.

“Ah, and here she is now,” mocked Eola. “My, she doesn’t look happy.”

Daenerys contained her irritation at having to work with the cannibal priestess and focused her glare on the Nords. “I don’t blame her. She wasn’t given much choice.”

“What?! You’re trading one of your whores! How much did you sell her for? We’ll double it!”

Daenerys laughed. It came out rather brittle. “You couldn’t afford her.”

Grisvar started ranting and insulting her. She tuned out the profanity. She was much more worried about the upcoming fake fight not turning real. She was also concerned by the number of Nords clustered behind Grisvar. Enough to overrun both her and Eola even though they could cast spells. However, first the Nords would have to raise their gate. If they tried, she’d burn them.

Suddenly the cry of “Treachery!” went up behind her. She backed away to look and also so the Nords could see.

Borkul the Beast held up the Breton gate and kicked the lumber prop back into the Breton tunnel. He let the gate drop with a loud clang.

“Time to go,” said Eola. She gave a blast of Sparks at the Nord gate and ran for the Forsworn side.

Daenerys and the men she had with her ran after Eola. She reached the shelter of the Forsworn gate and ran past Borkul who was holding up the gate and into the Forsworn tunnels. She turned around in case the Nords tried to rush the gate. She stood beside Eola and Borkul and watched as the drama played out. There was a lot of noise from the Breton side of the gate. The Nords sallied forth into the central chamber blustering and making demands. Eventually, Azeem appeared at the Breton gate and claimed that Odvan had been replaced. Azeem declared that he led the Redgaurd gang now and they were allied with the Forsworn. The Nords didn’t like it, but after stomping around and swearing a lot they returned to their own tunnels.

Eola sighed when they left. “That was disappointing. Typical Nords, all brave when then have the upper hand. When they don’t, they’re just swagger and brag. We should have eaten Grisvar when we had the chance.”

“Don’t talk to me like we’re friends.” She snapped out her words like the crack of a whip. “We are allies by reason of necessity, so we can both escape. If Madanach’s followers had sent more men, you would have left us to rot in here, or served all us Bretons up as a meal. I will keep my word. I will fight with you. I will heal your people, but I am fighting for my freedom and the freedom of the Bretons.”

Eola giggled. “You can’t hide your nature from me. I’m a priestess of the Rat. I will not shun you for what you are. I feel the hunger inside of you. Gnawing at you. You see the dead and your mouth grows wet. Your stomach growls.”

She wanted to threaten Eola with fire or just attack her because there was some truth to what the priestess said. When Daenerys had stood over the burned body of Skjor in her werewolf form, he had smelled delicious. She had wanted to sink her teeth into his corpse and feed on his flesh. She hadn’t given into the temptation then, not even when she watched Aela the Huntress feed on the corpses of the Silver Hands. Aela had claimed that feeding on human flesh made the inner wolf stronger, but Daenerys had refused. That memory was a large part of why she kept her werewolf on a short leash. She longed to knock that smug mocking smile off Eola’s face.

The unwelcome weight of Molag Bal’s mace appeared in her hand hanging down at her side. “You. Presume. Too. Much.”

“Break it up,” growled Borkul. “Both of you.” Borkul had drawn a shiv and moved to hold it at the ready. Clearly, he had seen the mace in her hand.

Eola’s smirk faded some. She looked from Borkul to Daenerys and then took a step back. “Oh, my, what a big mace you have. Conjuration as well. You’re full of surprises Danyen.”

Borkul took a step toward Eola. “I said, break it up.”

Eola pouted like a child. “Oh, very well. There will be time for fun later.” She sauntered off with a deliberately exaggerated sway of her hips.

Daenerys waited with Borkul instead of following immediately. She did not want to deal with the cannibal priestess right now. She looked up at Borkul the Beast. As intimidating as he was, he at least seemed committed to their alliance. “Does she think this is a game?”

Borkul shrugged. “Madanach says we need her. So, I can’t kill her. At least not yet, and she’s a good lay. You offering to take her place?” He said it blandly, like talking about the weather.

“No, I am not.” She stared him in the eye, not a challenge, but she wasn't backing down either. “I already explained that to Grisvar. Were you not listening?”

“I like how you explain things.” Borkul laughed. “That’s a good mace. Looks too heavy for you though. Can you handle it?”

Daenerys twirled the mace around. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll make it out alive.”

.oOo.

Daenerys followed the tunnel down. It wasn’t difficult to find where everyone was congregating. Odvan and Madanach were standing close to each other as shields, weapons and sacks of food were distributed. Madanach had promised weapons for everyone, and he was keeping that promise, but only barely. Most of the weapons being handed out were made of chaurus chitin, no doubt taken from the Falmer. Chaurus chitin made for slow and heavy weapons, but they were still better than pickaxes. On the plus side, he was also distributing some chitin shields as well. They were even heavier than the weapons, but they at least provided some defense. Daenerys wasn’t offered a shield. She waved off the offer of a weapon, but did take a bag of rations. She was one of the last to arrive and be outfitted.

Madanach and Odvan both gave short speeches about fighting their way to freedom, and then they set forth as planned. Really, they had little choice but to depart immediately. The main way that the Silver-Bloods kept their prisoners in line was by providing them with just enough food to survive. They didn’t have enough food supplies to delay. The city of Nchuand-Zel was a large and confusing maze, and it might take days to fight their way through to the exit.

Madanach led them all through the tunnels to a breached wall that opened upon Dwemer ruins. This part of the tunnels was secured. They passed through a room filled with spiderwebs that had once held a frostbite spider nest, but the Forsworn had burned it out long ago. Eventually the tunnels opened out upon the ruins of Nchuand-Zel, or a least a portion of those ruins.

This section of the ruined city lay within a vast underground chamber. Far above them a domed ceiling glowed with a soft blue light. Far below lay an underground lake. Towers the size of buildings rose from the lake thrusting up all the way to the glowing ceiling above. Stone walkways linked these towers stretching from one to another, some sloping up or down. Against all common sense, none of the connecting walkways had any form of railing. The walkways were wide enough for two men to walk side-by-side comfortably, but any construction made by men instead of Dwemer would have included some form of railing. Some of the chamber was difficult to see in the dim light, but many of the towers and walkways were lit by bright lights. These lights appeared to be some trick of Dwemer artifice still working centuries after their deaths.

“Danyen, cast your spell,” ordered Madanach.

Daenerys nodded and grabbed her Will, Focused on finding a way out, and for a Seeming she looked to Talos for guidance. A smokey white rope of magic formed and stretched out leading to the tower and the lift. Forsworn and Bretons both jumped out of the way of the glowing path as if it were dangerous magic. She cut off the flow of magic and let the trail dissipate. “There is a way out exactly where you described.”

“Did you hear that?” asked Madanach. “There is a way out!”

Everyone cheered. Some were more enthusiastic than others. The quiet ones probably realized just because there was a path didn’t mean they wouldn’t have to fight their way through.

“Everyone listen up. This is the easy part. The Falmer don’t like the lights, so there aren’t many of them in here, but there may be some skulking in the shadows, so don’t get cocky. We head to the central tower where there is a lift, a dwemer mechanism that causes the entire platform to rise up and down. We ride it to the bottom. That’s where we can enter the ruins, and that’s when the Falmer will start fighting us back.”

Daenerys listened and took her assigned place in the second wave. It felt odd to be a follower instead of one of the leaders. She had taken part during the planning back in the Breton tunnels, but she didn’t know these ruins or the Falmer like the Forsworn did. Madanach had laid out a plan and presented it in such a well thought out manner that she’d had nothing to add. She could have claimed a more important role by revealing herself as the Dragonborn, but for the Dragonborn to support the Forsworn in rebellion against Markarth would cause her political problems in the future. Besides, she didn’t entirely trust Madanach or the Forsworn. If they proved false, then keeping her abilities hidden might save her life and those of the Breton gang.

Madanach’s plan seemed to work at first. There were a few Falmer that had climbed up the central tower and made nests from which they were firing arrows down, but they were bad shots. Probably, because Falmer were almost blind and depended upon their hearing, but they still hit and wounded a few men. Those men were brought back to her and Eola for healing while Madanach sent his few archers to shoot down the Falmer. After exchanging several volleys of arrows the Falmer snipers were silenced. They still lost two people: one shot in the chest and was dead before he could be brought back for healing. The other tried dodging arrow fire and fell off the walkway. One of the Falmer snipers hit the platform when it fell. The Forsworn dragged it back into the tunnels where Daenerys was waiting. Two of the Forsworn started butchering the corpse for meat.

Daenerys deliberately didn’t watch. The Falmer were pitiful wretches. They had once been the proud and powerful race of Snow Elves, but they had gone to war with the Nords and lost. They had sought sanctuary with the Dwemer, the Deep Elves, but the Dwemer had betrayed and enslaved the Snow Elves. Gradually, under their enslavement to the Dwemer they had adapted to a subterranean existence. Their eyes had shriveled up, but their other senses had adapted to dwelling in the darkness. When the Dwemer race mysteriously vanished sometime in the First Era, the Falmer had inherited the cities, caverns, and tunnels the Dwemer left behind. Somehow, during the passing of time, the Falmer had gone feral. They were now more than beasts, but no longer quite mer. Their souls had even withered and could be captured in a common soul gem like animals, rather than requiring a black soul gem. They were clever. They wore scraps of clothing, and used weapons. They even had tamed the insectoid chaurus and used them as both food and beasts of battle, but they were considered by all to be merely monsters, and not an intelligent race, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see them butchered.

Once the Falmer archers were slain, they were able to make it to the lift unopposed. The lift couldn’t carry more than eight people at a time. That meant they had to take turns entering the lift, taking it down to the bottom level, then returning, but they eventually all reached the bottom of the chamber.

The lake at the bottom was shallow. Some of the taller men could stand in places. Daenerys found herself having to swim. She let Molag Bal’s mace sink to the bottom. The lake was a good place to leave it, and the accursed mace would undoubtedly return to her. Madanach had a map and led them to an opening that led them out of the lake and into a series of Dwemer tunnels and ruins. Her wet linen smock clung to her after swimming in the lake and hid nothing. She ignored the hungry stares of the men around her. She had experienced worse among the Dothraki, but she didn’t discount the danger from her own allies. She was very much aware that she was one of only two women surrounded by men. Even the best of men let their cocks think for them half the time, and these were far from the best of men. Even Eltrys stared at her. Then they encountered chaurus, and they all had more to worry about.

The chaurus attacked with no warning. Dark insectoid, skittering things that spit poison, and with teeth as sharp as blades. They ranged in size from that of a skeever to that of a lion. They swarmed out of the darkness clittering and clacking. Men cried out in pain as they were splattered with poison as the smaller ones rushed in and bit chunks out of their legs. Men screamed and yelled curses as they attacked back with the weapons they had.

Daenerys called upon Talos and cast a Candlelight spell lobbing it over the heads of the men fighting. The spell stuck to the ceiling and banished much of the shadows. Her light revealed a wave of the creatures swarming out like ants defending their nest. The battle was too chaotic for her to risk a Firebolt or any other offensive magic. She’d be as likely to injure her allies as the chaurus.

“Fall back! Fall back!” yelled Madanach. “Fall back to the lake! We’ll fight them in the doorway!”

Daenerys fell back as did some of the men with her, but some of the men in front of her were unable to disengage and pull off a fighting retreat. She stood in the lake up to her waist in water and healed the ones who escaped. Even as she did, she could hear other men crying out in terror and pain as they died to the poison and claws of the chaurus. She focused on healing, doing what she could as the cries slowly died out.

Then the chaurus swarmed out of tunnel and into the shallow water of the lake. They were only able to emerge one or two at a time and it was now the humans that had the advantage. Each bug that emerged was attacked on all sides. They went down quickly, but they kept coming. They seemingly didn’t care if they died, just emerging from their tunnel in a continuous stream of attackers, one after another, after another. They died fast, few were able to bite anyone, but their poison spit struck many. Madanach kept shouting orders, and the injured fell back for her and Eola to heal while others took their place. The ones who they healed turned back to rejoin the battle.

“I can’t keep this up!” shouted Eola. “I’m almost out of healing.”

As much as it pained Daenerys to agree with Eola, she wasn’t far behind. “I’m running low, too!”

“Clear the corpses!” yelled Madanach. “Get those doors closed! Now!”

To make matters worse two Falmer archers opened fire upon them from a walkway above them. Their aim was still bad as many of their arrows missed, but they had a lot of targets. Some of their men cried in pain. An arrow struck the water next to her as she healed another man. 

A cheer broke out in front of her as they closed the doors. Three men held the door shut while Borkul the Beast and some others moved large chunks of rubble over and dropped them outside the door to seal it shut. Borkul had a Falmer arrow sticking out of his shoulder and didn’t even seem to care.

“Everyone! Follow me!” yelled Madanach as he led the way to another doorway.

Daenerys swam after him. There wasn’t much else she could do. She was out of magicka and needed time to rest before she could do much of anything.

.oOo.

After guards had been placed, everyone had been healed, and the dead had been counted, Madanach had a quick council of war with Borkul the Beast, Eola the Priestess, Odvan and Daenerys. “We’re obviously not going to make it through the path we used before. Not past the chaurus. We lost nine good men trying. We’ll have to explore the ruins and find another path. We’ll start with this tower.”

“There might be a way through,” offered Daenerys. “I have been giving it some thought. Chaurus are just big bugs. They’re aggressive and dangerous, but not smart. We could open the door back up just enough to let one at a time through. They’re like ants. Poke them with a stick, they’ll come pouring out. We surround and kill them as they come through one at a time. Eola and I heal. When we run low on magicka, seal the doors and rest again. We would have to send some archers up to deal with the Falmer snipers as well.”

Madanach crossed his arms and frowned, but he didn’t say anything for a while. “It might work. I would even go along with it if we had more arrows and archers, but we don’t. We’re down to a score of arrows among three archers, and they’re crap Falmer arrows at that.”

Daenerys sighed and nodded her head. “Then my plan won’t work. While we could handle the chaurus we’d lose men to the Falmer archers. It looks like finding an alternate path is our only option.”

“Very well. We’ll let everyone breathe, dry off, and have a meal,” ordered Madanach. “Then we’ll resume. Remember, the Falmer know these ruins. They’re good at hiding in the dark places and ambushing. Danyen, I want you to use that pathfinding spell of yours and that light spell you used in the chaurus den. Eola, conserve your magicka for healing. Even if Danyen’s pathfinding spell works, we’ll come to intersections. Keep every path guarded as we work our way past.”

Nobody was entirely happy with the plan, but everyone agreed.

The plan seemed to work. When Daenerys cast Clairvoyance it led them deeper into the Dwemer tunnels instead of back out into the chamber. These tunnels didn’t have any chaurus eggs, giant killer insects, or Falmer. What it did have were surprisingly clean corridors lined with huge pipes of dwemer metal. Daenerys was astounded that the metal was used for something so mundane. An ingot of dwemer metal was worth more than silver, but the Dwemer used it for everything. Not that they could steal the pipes. They were hot to the touch and leaked hot steam in places. Steam pipes were commonly found in Dwemer ruins, no one really knew why, except they were connected to Dwemer machines somehow. This section Nchuand-Zel seemed to have some working machines judging by the throbbing, clanking, and whistling sounds, but they were hidden away somewhere.

They were making their way up a ramp when they triggered the first trap. Some kind of mechanism popped out of the top of the ramp and sprouted a spinning mass of whirling blades that scythed its way down the ramp killing two people, lopping the hand off another man, and injuring several others.

Careful testing showed the trap reset itself and would go off again, but there was a short pause while it reset. During that time it was possible to sprint up the ramp and past the scything blade trap. They bypassed the trap by triggering it and then sprinting past four at a time. Daenerys thought they were lucky not to lose anyone else getting past the trap.

Madanach called a break after they got past the scything blade trap and they split up into two camps to eat and rest. Eola had to be a bitch. She encouraged the Forsworn to make a big show of cooking the Falmer meat they had butchered and loudly enjoying it. Meanwhile, the Bretons dined on prison rations that had been dunked in lakewater.

She looked around and saw the tired faces of the Bretons. She wasn’t blind to their losses today. Two on the bridge, nine more when fighting the chaurus, and two to traps. Thirteen in all, more than a fifth of their total. These men didn’t feel like celebrating, but someone needed to do something about their defeated attitude.

She stepped out among them and raised her voice. “Bretons, I know you are tired. I know we lost friends today. I know you grieve their loss. I do as well, but we should also remember them for how they died. They could have stayed in Cidhna Mine, but they chose to risk escape. They fought and they died as free men. Not prisoners. Not slaves. Free men. That’s what we all are now. Free men. We have left our chains behind. We are not slaving away mining silver for our masters. We’re fighting for our freedom.”

There was some muttering among the Bretons, but they listened and followed her every word, more than she expected they would.

“The Nords, they believe that how you live your life is less important than how you face death. I say that they are only half right. If you live your life taking from others, pushing them down, oppressing your fellow men, then you’ve already given your soul to Molag Bal by your deeds. No good death will save you then. However, how you face death does matter, because it is how we face death that shows our true courage. I ask you not to give up, but to fight. Fight for your freedom. Fight for the Bretons we left behind in Cidhna Mine who are depending on us. I would rather die free than live a slave. I tell all of you, that you have already broken your chains!”

There were a lot of cheers from the Bretons, far more than she expected, but they also stared at her in awe. She didn’t think it was that good a speech. “I also tell you, that whether we live or die, we do so as free men, and that even the gods will respect that.”

Again the cheers seemed out of proportion to her speech, but she wasn’t going to complain. “Danders,” she said calling on someone she knew was close to one of the men who had died. “I know that Soran was a friend of yours. Would you tell us of his life, so we can honor him?”

“Yes, Priestess!” Hesitantly at first, and then with increasing confidence Danders spoke of his friend Soran. How he had been a simple cobbler that had liked ale and blondes. How he’d slept with the wrong Nord’s daughter and gotten thrown in for rape although the girl had been more than willing. Soran had been eager to fight although he hadn’t known how. He’d gone down fighting a chaurus with a weapon in his hand. “But you’re right. He died free.”

After Danders she coaxed others to come forward and speak of their dead. Some of them were innocent of their crimes. Some had been guilty, but they’d all died free. Daenerys didn’t know if this was the kind of sermon she should be giving as a priestess of Talos or not. However, it seemed to help the men find their courage, and that was good enough for her. She was also puzzled by the amount of respect she was receiving. Even some of the Forsworn listened and Borkul the Beast was one of them.

Odvan walked up to her afterwards. “That was quite a sermon. Thank you, Priestess.” He bowed and turned away. “Alright! Everyone who isn’t on guard duty, get to sleep. We’ve got more fighting tomorrow.”

Everyone drifted off to their beds. Many of them gave her respectful nods. Even Eltrys was acting funny. He seemed hesitant to follow her. Maybe he wasn’t needed as a shield to protect her when she slept, but she felt better for his presence. “Eltrys, is something wrong?”

“You don’t know do you?” asked Eltrys. “It’s your hair. When you were giving your sermon. The light was on you and your hair just seemed to start glowing and now it’s gone white. It’s like the gods were sending a sign.”

The potion! She’d forgotten it would only last a week and then quickly fade. It must have run out while she was giving that sermon. She grabbed a lock of her hair and pulled it to where she could see and it was back to its proper shade, so pale a blonde to be almost white. She almost explained to Eltrys that it wasn’t a miracle, just a hair-coloring potion. It was silly for everyone to be that impressed when priests healed and cast other spells all the time, but then she thought about it. Maybe it was a miracle of sorts. The same kind of miracle that had her reaching the summit of the Throat of the World just at high noon on the summer solstice.

She let go of her lock of hair and brushed it behind her back. “It was indeed a sign. Even here in the darkness, the gods listen. We’re going to make it out of here.”


	12. Chapter 11

# Chapter 11

Tirdas, the 12th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys hadn’t slept well since being incarcerated in Cidhna Mines. A thin blanket couldn’t make hard stone comfortable, and she had been very much aware of being one of three women surrounded by men. She always slept up against the wall with Eltrys on her other side. She slept even worse in Nchuand-Zel, because she was unable to shut out the sounds of Eola coupling with the Forsworn. She didn’t know if such a spectacle was the custom of the Forsworn, or not. Perhaps they were like the Dothraki and considered sex to be a source of entertainment. Whether it was Forsworn custom or not, Eola was deliberately putting on a show with exaggerated sighs and cries as she encouraged her lovers. The Rat Priestess coupled with Madanach first, then Borkul the Beast, and two men after that Madanach loudly declared were to be ‘rewarded’ for their exceptional valor. Daenerys didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t sleep either, not until they were done. Even then she slept restlessly. She knew that Eltrys was married, but she still clung to his back for warmth and comfort.

She woke up abruptly as Eltrys was jostled. She opened her eyes to see Odvan shaking him.

“Wake up, Eltrys.” His words were quiet but urgent. “I need to speak with her.”

Daenerys sat up and automatically checked to see if the Mace of Molag Bal had returned to her. She wasn’t surprised to find it lying next to her. She grabbed it and stood up while Eltrys mumbled something. He was not quite asleep, but not yet fully awake. She carefully stepped over him. “What is it, Odvan?”

“I need to speak with you,” repeated Odvan. “Hey, what’s with the mace? Just talk.”

“I heard.” Daenerys put down the mace. Eltrys was finally sitting up and rubbing his eyes in confusion. She ignored him and looked to Odvan. “There, no more mace, so speak with me.”

“Okay.” He hesitated for a moment and then blurted out. “It’s about your hair.”

“My hair?”

“Last night, I thought it was a sign of approval from the gods. White hair is a sign of age and with age comes wisdom or something, but later I couldn’t sleep and I realized… Your hair, your eyes, and your name. Danyen. Dan-Yen. Daenerys Targaryen. You’re her. You’re the Dragonborn.”

“What?” asked Eltrys.

Daenerys sighed. She should have picked a different name. Too late now. “Yes, I’m the Dragonborn. Who else knows?”

“I don’t know,” replied Odvan. “I figured it out for myself. No one else has come to me about it, but it’s obvious isn’t it? The clues are all there.”

“I hope it isn’t obvious.” It occurred to her that she had underestimated Odvan. Yes, he had agreed too easily to Madanach’s escape plan, but she couldn’t blame him for being desperate to escape. Even a few days had taught her that life in Cidhna Mines was misery. Other than being too eager to accept Madanach’s offer, Odvan had seemed to be a cunning and effective leader. He was heavy-handed at times, but he was the boss of a prison gang not the jarl of a city. Despite the racial mix of his gang, he kept them fed and put down fights with a minimum of violence. “Do you think others know?”

“If they do, no one has said anything, but everyone went to sleep. The Forsworn might not get it because there haven’t been any new Forsworn convicts lately. So, they probably wouldn’t have heard of you, but we’ve had three Bretons join the gang since news of the Dragonborn reached Markarth. I’d be surprised if none of them figure it out.”

Eltrys scoffed from his seated position between them. “As if anyone is thinking down here. We’re all scared we’re going to die tomorrow. Not to mention we all went to sleep dreaming of the rat-slut priestess. We’re desperate for a miracle at least I was. I don’t think many will look deeper than that.”

Daenerys hoped that was true. “Are you going to tell anyone, Odvan?”

“I don’t know. Why did you keep it secret? Why all of it? Why would you come to Markarth? I can understand not wanting to fight more dragons. Who would? But why were you pretending to be a Breton? Why didn’t you just Shout your way out of the mines? Why didn’t you Shout when we were fighting the chaurus? You could have saved a lot of men.”

“I didn’t plan to come to Markarth. It wasn’t my choice. I got separated…” She couldn’t think of a good lie, so she just pressed on. “When I arrived, I didn’t dare announce myself. There are Thalmor in the city. I started working for Eltrys because I needed money. Even down here in the mines, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want the guards to find out. If they knew I was the Dragonborn, they might have dragged me out of the mines and given me to the Thalmor. If my Shouts were strong enough to blow down a portcullis, I would have done so already. They’re strong, but not that powerful. As for the chaurus, Shouting takes magicka. I could have done something, but there were people in the way. I was doing just as much good if not more healing.” Yet, people had still died. “I still don’t want to say anything. I don’t trust the Forsworn, Odvan. If they turn on us, then being able to Shout might make the difference.”

Odvan frowned while she was explaining, but in the end he nodded. “You shouldn’t have come to Markarth. That was a mistake, but I can understand why you hid and kept quiet about it even down here. You’re also right about not trusting the Forsworn. We’ve lost too many men already. So, we keep it secret and hope that Eltrys is right and no one notices. He might be right. Everyone is too busy trying to survive to think things through, but there are gaps in your story. You’re still hiding things. I’ll keep your secrets, but I want answers from you. No more surprises.”

Daenerys nodded her agreement, but she didn’t plan on telling Odvan everything. “Very well, what do you want to know?”

“We’ll have to talk about it later. We have a meeting with the Forsworn to go to now.”

“Alright, later then. Lead the way to this meeting.” She was perfectly happy to postpone having to share her secrets with Odvan. She looked back to Eltrys. “We’ll talk later now, and don’t touch the mace.”

He nodded. “I know. You warned me. Several times. Be careful with the Forsworn.”

She followed Odvan to a corner of the room where they met with Madanach and Eola to plan the day’s march. The plan was essentially the same as before. She was to cast Candlelight and Clairvoyance. Eola would conserve her magicka for healing.

Their exploration of the Dwemer ruins continued much as it left off. They seemed to be in an area of Nchuand-Zel that the Falmer avoided, likely because of the sheer number of traps. They encountered pit traps, traps that shot darts, traps that shot out jets of steam, and more of the scything blade traps. They also had to deal with automatons, Dwemer mechanical constructs that moved and attacked as if they were alive.

The most common of these constructs were dwarven spiders. They were also the smallest and least dangerous. They were almost the size of a dog but resembled a spider. They scurried about on six legs and attacked by lashing out with two sharp claws that could easily rend flesh. Individually they weren’t that dangerous, but they never attacked as individuals. They attacked in twos and threes. That made them more dangerous, but they had enough men to surround and overwhelm them. That didn’t help save one Forsworn who fell into a pit trap. Three of the things attacked and ripped him to pieces before they were able to get him out. They were lucky it was only one man dead. The injured could be healed so they could press on.

More dangerous than the dwarven spiders were the dwarven spheres. They resembled large metal balls at first. They would roll up under their own power and then unfold into a mechanical Dwemer warrior with wheels instead of legs. Whether as a sphere or unfolded, the automatons moved as fast as a man could run. They were armed with a wickedly sharp blade in one hand and a crossbow in their other hand. They wielded both with deadly power, speed, and precision. Worse, the spheres could shrug off blows that would kill a man and were willing to take a blow in order to strike. They lost three men to the first one. After that Madanch put Borkul the Beast up front with one of the heavy Falmer shields. Borkul got cut up pretty badly in the next attack, but they only lost one man.

Daenerys was surprised by the tenderness she saw in Eola as the Forsworn priestess healed Borkul. After Eola’s performance the previous night, she hadn’t expected her to actually care. It didn’t match her impression of Eola at all.

Once Borkul was healed, Madanach called a break for another planning session. “We’re losing too many men to the dwarven spheres, and we don’t have lives to spare. Danyen, you’re better than Eola with Destruction magic. Can you do something to help take them out?”

Daenerys frowned. She had good reasons for keeping her ability to Shout secret. What she had told Odvan about not trusting the Forsworn was true, but she had also been thinking about her political future once they were free. If they escaped Nchuand-Zel, there was a good chance that Madanach would be able to take Markarth by using the tunnels to bypass the walls. She did not want the Dragonborn and the Dragonguard associated with the fall of Markarth to the Forsworn. Nords were divided about many things particularly by their religion and their loyalty to the Empire. However, nearly all Nords agreed on hating the Reachmen. The Forsworn were despised for being daedra worshiping cannibal savages. From what she had seen, the Nords were correct. She had ridden in a Dothraki khalasar and the Forsworn were every bit as savage as the Dothraki. The Forsworn just weren’t as successful at it as the Dothraki. If she had any other choice, she wouldn’t be allied with them. She did not like them. She trusted Odvan and the Breton gang. She did not trust the Forsworn. They were at best allies of circumstance.

However, there was no other choice. They were all trapped together in this dead city. At least for now, they were her allies, and men were dying. The dwarven automatons did not distinguish between Breton and Foresworn, nor did they go down easily. If she joined the front line, she could save lives with her Shouts – provided that she didn’t get killed by a trap or an automaton. It would be safer to say nothing. She could just stay back and heal. However, she was no longer the girl who let her dragons and others fight for her. She was a mage. She was a warrior. She had faced dragons. She was not going to hide when she could make a difference.

“I can help,” she declared. “I’ll need to be in front, so I’ll need a chitin shield.” Mostly because of the crossbows on the dwarven spheres. “I’ll need some time to practice with the front liners. They need to get out of my way when I yell, ‘Clear!’ and close ranks when I pull back to recover magicka.”

“Hmm,” said Madanach. “I didn’t think you would volunteer to be in front. I expected you to lob spells from behind. Are you sure that you can hold your own?”

Daenerys laughed and gave her mace a twirl. “I guess you didn’t know. I’m an adventurer. I’ve explored ruins before. Nchuand-Zel isn’t much different from a Nord barrow. The traps are nastier, so are the monsters, but everything is still trying to kill us. I can handle myself, but I had allies who knew when to get out of my way, which is why I want to practice first.” A good part of that speech was bravado. She’d worn armor before when she went in dungeons and she’d been with people she trusted, but she could do this.

“Then why have you been hanging back with me?” asked Eola. “We lost a lot of good men against the chaurus.”

Daenerys shrugged. “Against Falmer and traps, it made sense to stay back. I do more good healing and lighting up the battlefield so we can see. Even against the dwarven spiders, that would still be true. Against those dwarven spheres? Madanach is right. We need to hit them harder. I can do that. I can help put the spheres down harder.” Hopefully, it would be just spheres. She’d fought a dwarven centurion once in a Falmer cave outside of Whiterun. It had been damaged, and it had still been a nightmare.

“It’s her life she’s risking,” said Odvan. “Give her a chance.”

“Very well,” agreed Madanach. “Get the men together and practice. Show us what you can do.”

The corridors of Nchuand-Zel were broad enough that her front line consisted of four men. She stood in the second line with another man on each side of her. Borkul carried a shield on each arm and played the role of the attacking automatons. Rather than Shouting she used Frostbite and made a point to blast anyone who didn’t move out of the way fast enough when she shouted for them to clear. She healed them afterward, but they quickly learned to get out of her way when she needed to cast. They weren’t anywhere near in the class of the Dragonguard, but after six repetitions Daenerys was satisfied.

She looked over to Madanach who had been watching the whole time. “I think we’re as ready as we’ll get down here.”

“I agree.” Madanach stroked his horseshoe mustache. “Although, I was thinking about your mace. I notice you left it by Odvan because you need to have your hand free to cast.”

“My preference is to wear a bracer attached to my left forearm that leaves my hand free to cast, but we don’t have any bracers.” She wasn’t complaining. She was just working with what she had. “Not to mention I might need the shield if one of those dwarven spheres aims a crossbow at me. I’ll carry the mace in my right hand and drop it if I need to cast.”

“That mace is not a normal conjuration,” observed Eola. “It looks like a bound daedra, but I can sense the power in it. It’s an impressive weapon. Better than anyone else has. It’s also odd that I’ve never seen you use any other Conjuration.”

Daenerys shrugged. “Regardless, I don’t see where it matters.”

“It matters because the spheres are difficult to damage, and you aren’t planning on using it in combat,” said Madanach. “If you loaned it to one of our front-line fighters, such as Borkul or one of the Bretons, it could make a difference.”

She paused to consider that before replying. On one hand, automatons were just machines. They didn’t have souls to steal. However, on the other hand, if she willingly gave the mace away, would it then have a new owner? It seemed likely, and that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. She didn’t want the mace, but she wasn’t going to give it out for someone else to send souls to Molag Bal. It was her burden to bear. “No. The mace belongs to me. It is a relic, and I will not part with it.”

“Really?” asked Eola. “A relic? Hmm, I’ve never heard of a relic of Talos in the form of a mace. In fact, I can really only think of one god who has a relic that is a mace.” She laughed. “He’s certainly not Talos… although Talos may be his bright side. How very interesting.”

Daenerys ignored her and stared at Madanach. “I already agreed to join the vanguard. I’m not giving away that mace.”

“I support Danyen in this,” declared Odvan. “As will the rest of the Bretons. The mace is hers. If you want one like it go find your own.”

Madanach frowned at him. “Fine. We’re wasting time. Let’s get moving.”

“Not yet,” disagreed Odvan. “I would like a word with Danyen first. Then I think you should practice some more.”

“Hurry up and get your talking done.” Madanach stomped off to speak with Eola.

“We’ll be quick,” replied Odvan. He gestured off to the side and beckoned Daenerys to join him.

Daenerys followed him curious as to what he wanted. She stepped close and lowered her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Thank you for standing up for me about the mace.”

His scowl relaxed but didn’t go away. “You’re welcome. You’re more than I thought you were, but you’re still a Breton to me. I look out for my people. I’ll beat the shite out of them if I have to, but I look out for them. Two things. First, that mace. What is it?”

“It’s cursed,” said Daenerys. “It is a relic, as I said, but not of Talos, and it’s attached to me. I don’t conjure the mace. It comes to me when I need it and sometimes when I don’t.”

“If it’s cursed, why don’t you want to get rid of it? What is the curse?”

Daenerys paused and looked around to make sure no one could hear them. She considered lying to Odvan, but Eola had already hinted at recognizing the mace. “It’s a relic of Molag Bal, and it’s evil.”

“Molag Bal!” cursed Odvan in disbelief, but he did have the sense to swear quietly.

“Yes, Molag Bal, and I think Eola knows. If she doesn’t, she at least suspects. I won’t give the mace up. As I said, it’s pure evil. It doesn’t just kill. It claims the souls of its victims for Molag Bal. Think about that for a moment. Think of how bad Cidhna Mine is, but it never ends, and you are being tortured all the time. That’s what happens to anyone killed by this mace. I would destroy it if I could, but I won’t just loan it out. I refuse to send a single soul to Molag Bal.”

“Oblivion,” swore Odvan. “Fine. It’s yours. You keep it. Keep it far away from me. The other thing, you’re planning on Shouting?”

Daenerys nodded. “I’ll try to avoid it, but if we run into another dwarven sphere, then yes. Is that a problem?”

“Shouting, no. It would have been nice to have kept it a secret, but those spheres are killing us. Shout them into bits. However, you should tell them now and practice. During battle is not the time for a sudden reveal to your allies. It might get someone killed.”

“You’re right.” She felt foolish for not thinking that through. “I was just hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, but I don’t see our journey suddenly getting easier.” She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Odvan. I guess it is time to let this secret loose. Most of the Bretons will know immediately, won’t they?”

Odvan shrugged. “Some of them. Others will take time. The Forsworn wouldn’t be much behind. I could hail you as the Dragonborn if you like. We might as well make the most out of it.”

Daenerys nodded her approval. Odvan had good instincts. “Agreed. Just Daenerys Targaryen and the Dragonborn. We don’t need my other titles here.” Too many titles wouldn’t go over well with these convicts. They were common men, not nobles.

“You have other titles?” asked Odvan. “We can talk of that later, everyone is waiting on us.”

“Yes, later,” she agreed. They returned back and she had the front line set up for another round without Borkul as the pretend target. This time she kept Molag Bal’s mace in her hand and Shouted “ **Yol!”** rather than casting Frostbite. She was not surprised when everyone stopped and looked at her. They didn’t kneel like the Nords did, but the Bretons were clearly in awe. The Forsworn looked mostly confused.

Odvan broke the awed hush. “All hail Daenerys Targaryen, Priestess of Talos and the Dragonborn.”

Borkul the Beast grinned broadly and laughed. “Now things are getting fun.”


	13. Chapter 12

# Chapter 12

Tirdas, the 12th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys wasn’t surprised that Madanach called another meeting. Borkul was amused. Eola was grinning and smiling. Odvan swaggered.

Madanach wasn’t happy and he took it out on Odvan. “What in Oblivion was that? She can Shout. That’s something you should have brought up! Having a Tongue with us changes things, but what was that skeever shit about claiming she’s the Dragonborn?”

“He didn’t know,” interrupted Daenerys. “Not until my sermon last night. I was hoping to keep it quiet, but I am the Dragonborn. Look at the Bretons.” She waved a hand behind her to where the Breton gang was celebrating. “Maybe the Forsworn have been cut off from the latest news of Skyrim, but the Bretons know my name. I was acclaimed the Dragonborn after my defeat of the dragon Mir-Mul-Nir outside of Whiterun three months ago. I proved that wasn’t luck last month when I defeated the dragon Lok-Nos-Dov on the passes of the Throat of the World. I have been to High Hrothgar. The Greybeards acknowledged my claim as Dragonborn and proclaimed me Ysmir, Dragon of the North.”

Madanach crossed his arms defensively. “We have your word on that? What’s you’re proof?”

“The proof is in my Thu’um.”

Odvan laughed at that and he wasn’t the only one. Borkul and Eola laughed as well. Eola’s laugh was more of a mad giggle while Borkul’s was a deep-voiced chuckle, but it showed quite clearly that Madanach’s support was slipping.

“That’s not enough. There are Tongues. The gift of the Voice is rare, but not lost. Why are you pretending to be a mere priestess? If you’re the Dragonborn why in Oblivion would the Nords throw you into Cidhna Mines instead of kissing your arse?”

Daenerys had skirted her presence in Markarth when she talked to Odvan, but now she sensed an opportunity to drive a wedge in the Forsworn leadership. She smiled at Eola. “Would you care to guess? It involved a Daedric Prince.”

“Oh, did it?” Eola seemed so pleased about this turn of events. “The Dark Ones do so like to tempt heroes with power. Did you make a deal and get caught with the crumbs on your face, like a child sneaking food?”

“Nothing so grand. We were celebrating victory. It was a big celebration. I had a few drinks with a stranger. I don’t remember much after that, but I woke up in Markarth.”

“Ooh.” Eola gave a creepy little shiver of delight. “You met Sanguine. Did you enjoy him? I imagine the Prince of Debauchery knows his way around a woman’s body, but maybe not. He does care for his own pleasure first, last, and always.”

Could the man she’d slept with have been Sanguine himself? She had been drunk, but willing. Her memories still hadn’t come back, but she hoped it wasn’t Sanguine. She recalled him saying that he would introduce her to someone before her memories got fuzzy. Although sleeping with some random man wasn’t any better. “I don’t remember.”

“Liar,” mocked Eola in sing-song voice. “Your voice says no, and your face is stern, but your complexion is too fair to hide that flush.”

Perhaps driving a wedge was not a good idea. “Regardless, I am known to be a Talos worshiper. Markarth has chosen to side with the Empire and against the Stormcloaks. There are Thalmor in the city, so I passed myself off as a Breton. I was trying to just earn enough gold to rejoin my followers, but…” She shrugged. “Bretons aren’t well-liked in Markarth. Bretons that ask questions get sent to Cidhna Mines.”

Madanach snorted. “Learned a lesson, did you? But you’re still a Stormcloak. That’s why you hid. Are you going to turn on us as soon as we’re out of the mines?”

“Are you going to turn on me?” she countered. “I’m not a Stormcloak. I’ve met Ulfric. He’s an ass. He is sincere in worshiping Talos, but he’s also using the war to seize the throne. He wants to be High King of an independent Skyrim. I am not on his side. My Dragonguard is neutral. The gods set me a mission – to defeat the dragons and Al-Du-In. Your war with Markarth is not my concern. It’s been going on for generations. Once we escape, we can simply go our separate ways.”

Madanach frowned at her. “So, you won’t help the rest of the Bretons escape? As soon as we’re outside you’re gone?”

“That was the deal from the beginning. You just wanted help to get out. You’re the one who laid down the terms that we had to leave half of ours behind. You’re the one who promised to bring an army and return. I’m keeping my word and more. Do you think we would have come this far without my Clairvoyance spell? Do you think we can keep taking losses like this? I didn’t have to reveal I could Shout. I could have claimed to have no useful magic against the spheres, but I didn’t. I stood up and agreed to join the front lines and risk my life to help us all earn our freedom. I’ve seen Odvan fighting. I haven’t seen you do anything but give orders.”

Madanach glanced over to Odvan. “You’re fine with her fucking us both over?”

“She’s not fucking me over,” replied Odvan. “I think you have her confused with Eola. Daenerys isn’t fucking anyone with a cock.” He paused and looked Daenerys up and down. “Not that I would mind getting fucked over as long as I got fucked; it would be worth it. However, that’s beside the point. I agree with her. Most of my Bretons will take off as soon as we’re out. That was the deal. Some of us will stick around to help, depending on what you offer, but you’re not doing a good job of convincing me to be one of them. You’re acting like all of us Bretons agreed you’re our king. If this is the kind of skeever shit that you pull when we’re just allies, I don’t want to follow you back to some Reacher village where I’ll be outnumbered. I’m also not impressed with your leadership when you’re antagonizing the girl who can Shout. Maybe you haven’t heard the story, but she’s not lying. She killed a fucking dragon. If I have to choose between you and Daenerys, I choose her, so quit your whining about it.”

“Is that how you want it, Odvan?” asked Madanach. “We left half your people behind. You still need my help to get them out.”

“Who is going back on their word now, old man?” asked Odvan.

Daenerys cleared her throat drawing everyone’s attention to her. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation later when our tempers have cooled. Everyone is watching us, even if they can’t hear us. We are the leaders. We should act like it. Why don’t we all take a step back and focus on surviving today. We can negotiate tomorrow when tempers aren’t running so high.”

“Agreed,” said Odvan with a firm nod. “We could all still die down here. Let’s focus on escaping first.”

Madanach stood stone-faced for a long pause, and then nodded. “Very well. We will leave it for now.”

.oOo.

The tension in the leadership did not extend to the men in the vanguard. They respected her even more after hearing her Shout. A front line of four men advanced slowly alert for traps or more dwarven automaton. Not that being alert helped much. The traps just happened. With very little warning flame or steam would jet out, darts would fly, a pit would open, or one of those whirling blades would lash out. The men on the front were roped together in pairs, the two on the left and the two on the right to help defeat the pit traps. The flame, steam, and dart traps could be survived with prompt healing. The whirling blade traps were the most dangerous. They didn’t just strike the person who triggered them. The blades continued sweeping the corridor. The only defense was to immediately flee from them. There was a clanking sound that preceded their attack, but there were numerous mechanical sounds around them all the time which made it difficult. It was stressful and the men in the vanguard swapped out after every trap to spread the risk.

Daenerys wasn’t in the front line, but she was immediately behind them and couldn’t swap out, not if she wanted to be able to battle any automatons. She wasn’t alone, though. Borkul the Beast stayed on her left side and a lanky Breton man by the name of Verel stayed on her right. Verkel was one of the Breton gang’s best fighters and he had the scars to show for it. He reminded her of a young Jorah Mormont, not in looks, but in attitude. Eager instead of jaded, but with the same mix of respect and lust. He and Borkul were her assigned bodyguards, ready to jump into the fray and allow her to back up and recover after she Shouted.

It didn’t take long for them to encounter two dwarven spiders. She Shouted “ **Yol-Toor-Shul!** ” and her breath exploded into a narrow cone of flame. The spider she targeted was knocked back and slammed into a wall. Its limbs twitched, but it didn’t get back up to attack. The other spider kept coming. Borkul and Verel quickly got in front of her while the front liners converged on the spider and quickly destroyed it.

Several traps and intersections later Daenerys faced her first dwarven sphere. As soon as everyone cleared out in front of her, she drew breath to Shout. She had to abort and block with her shield as the sphere fired its crossbow at her. The crossbow bolt punched through her chaurus chitin shield and narrowly missed her arm. She quickly lowered her shield and Shouted back at it. **Yol-Toor-Shul** did not destroy the sphere as easily as the spider, but her Shout sent it spinning and wobbling away. When the mechanical dwarven warrior recovered it was listing to one side and stuttering as it moved. The warriors in the vanguard charged forward, and it went down fast under their attacks. Nobody died. No one even got hurt. It was the first time they had taken down a dwarven sphere without losing a man. Not only did they kill it without losses, but the morale of the Breton gang soared and even some of the Forsworn cheered.

Their progress remained slow: steam trap, pit trap, spiders, more spiders, steam trap, and then another sphere that didn’t go down as easily. It managed to gut a man, but not so badly he couldn’t be healed. As they continued the sounds of machinery in the walls grew, and the sporadic lights became more common and brighter. There wasn’t a trap or an automaton with every step, but there were enough of them to make their progress painstakingly slow. After several more intersections, two spiders, and a pit trap, their progress came to a complete halt because their path was blocked by a gate made entirely of dwemer metal.

Daenerys cast Clairvoyance and watched the ghostly trail point right to the gate. “The path leads through the gate.”

“Which means this is the only way out?” asked Borkul.

“No,” replied Daenerys with a shake of her head. “It means the most direct path out from here lies through that gate. We could go explore down some of the corridors we didn’t take. If we go far enough we might find another path, or we might not.”

“So, it’s like having a map?” asked Verrel. “It doesn’t mean you have to follow the map, but if you don’t you can get lost.”

“Close enough,” agreed Daenerys. “Clairvoyance is notorious for being a finicky spell, but if it leads this way it means we should be able to get through the gate. I suppose I could try Shouting it down.”

“Ma’am?” asked Verrel. “There are some people in the gang who know a few things about locks. Maybe we should let them have a go first, before you try smashing things?”

Daenerys laughed and was surprised that Borkul laughed as well. “Verrel, would you find us one of those fine fellows who know about locks?”

He nodded at her. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

Daenerys welcomed the opportunity to rest. From the way the men were cursing, they would be there a while with the lock. She walked back from the gate to give the men a place to work. She sat down and had just taken a sip of water from her waterskin when Eola sat down beside her. Daenerys closed her waterskin and eyed the Forsworn priestess suspiciously. “What do you want, Eola?”

“I just want to talk,” said Eola with a smile that looked more creepy than comforting. Partially that was due to the skull facepaint she wore, but not entirely. Everything about Eola felt a bit off, from the sing-song way she talked, to the way she swayed as if half-drunk. “I know about your mace!”

Daenerys glanced about. No one was close enough to hear a quiet conversation, but they weren’t alone. There were people all about them. Most of them were sitting and talking, but a good many of them were watching. Some were openly staring because they were the only two women down here. Others seemed more hopeful that the two priestesses might be about to get into a fight. “Good for you. I don’t particularly want to talk about my mace.”

“Aww, such a pity. Hiding from what you are. Pretending to serve Talos, when you serve the Old Gods just like we do.”

“If you ever get tired of serving Namira, you would make a good jester. I serve Talos, not Namira, or the Rat, whichever you prefer.”

Eola waggled a finger. “No, no, no. I was talking about the Old Gods. Namira is just an aspect of the Rat, and the Rat is just one of the Old Gods. The people of the Reaches remember the Old Gods, even more than the Nords. They have forgotten lost Atmora. They turned their backs on the truth and embraced the pleasant façade of the Eight and the Nine. We Reachers stayed true. We never forgot, nor have the gods forgotten us. I serve the Rat goddess in all her aspects, but I respect all the Old Gods.”

Daenerys knew a little bit about Atmora, mostly because some people at the College of Winterhold had suspected she came from Atmora. It was supposedly a continent north of Tamriel and frozen solid now. The Nords had originated there and migrated to Tamriel as the world cooled. However, she had to wonder whether that was true. Perhaps like her homeland, Atmora was from another kalpa. She might never know the truth of that, but she was at least curious about the old gods. They were also a safer subject than her mace. “If you say so. I’ll admit that I know little about Atmora or the old gods. What makes the Rat different from Namira?”

Eola smiled her creepy smile and giggled like a young girl. “Listen and learn the truth. Two is the nature of reality: man and woman, light and darkness, Masser and Secunda, left and right, good and evil, order and chaos, creation and destruction. Two eyes to see. Two ears to hear. Listen and learn. The gods are not singular of nature, but plural. They each have a light aspect: good, nurturing, creative and a dark aspect: evil, capricious, destructive. We name them by their totems. The Owl is Jhunal, the god of wisdom, but the owl is also Notta, the one sees all that happens in the night. The Dragon is both Akatosh, the ruler of time, and Alduin, the ender of time.”

“I follow Akatosh and Alduin being the Dragon.” Not that she was agreeing with her. “But do you mean the Owl is both Julianos and Nocturnal? You used different names.”

“Those are our names. The true names of the gods. We Reachers remember the names we brought with us from Atmora of old. Sainted Alessia invented Julianos and the other names when she led her rebellion against the Ayleids. We thank her for setting humans free from our elven overlords, but she chose to listen only to the light. The Ayleids knew the same truth that I’m sharing with you now. The Aedra and Daedra are not different, but the one and the same.”

Daenerys greatly admired what she had read about Saint Alessia. If less than half of what was said about her was true, she more than deserved being named a saint. She had led a rebellion that had freed man from the yoke of elven slavery. She had also created the church of the Eight Divines which became the Nine Divines when Talos was added. Daenerys wasn’t sure she believed Eola about the dual nature of gods. She had met both Clavicus Vile and Nocturnal and neither had shown a second aspect. Nocturnal had also claimed that three was the mystic number, not two. However, this was at least interesting. Besides, knowing a bit more about Forsworn culture and beliefs couldn’t hurt. “Alright then, so you serve the Rat who has two aspects. Namira the dark aspect of unwanted things. What is her other aspect?”

“Fodelse, goddess of birth, conception, and fertility. She’s not one of your Nine.” She sneered a bit and her tone became mocking again. “Fodelse didn’t fit when Alessia decided to start a new religion, but we remember. Of course, even the gods change over time. Perhaps some of Fodelse lives on in your Mara although the Mother goddess is the light aspect of the Wolf.” She shrugged. “More importantly, Danyen, Priestess of Talos, is that you serve the Fox in both his aspects.”

Daenerys had a feeling where this was going. “So, you’re saying Talos is the light aspect of the Fox? I’m pretty sure Talos wasn’t around in the time of Atmora.”

Eola giggled and rocked back and forth like a child. “No, he was not, but the Fox was the trickster, the creator, Shor as he was called then. He became Lorkhan. Shor and Lorkhan died, but the Fox lived on, in Shezarr, god of men, Morihaus, breath of man, and Reman, spirit of the Empire. The Fox never left. He just changed. Now he is known as Talos. At least that is what his light side is called. You do know who his dark side is, don’t you?”

Daenerys frowned. “I don’t believe as you do, Eola. I serve Talos.” She made sure her statement was firm and loud. Too many Bretons and Foresworn were trying to listen in them. Let them hear that.

“But you know. You know the other side of the Fox,” taunted Eola. “What is the dark side of the hero, but to crush, to take, to dominate, and to enjoy it more because of the suffering caused?”

“You’re talking about Molag Bal, obviously, but I do not serve him. I serve Talos.”

“Do you?” asked Eola as she glanced pointed to Molag Bal’s mace.

“Yes!” came a cry from up the corridor. “I got it.” The gate in front of them swung open.

Eola bounced to her feet. “Lovely talk, we should do this again, soon. You can tell me all about Talos and his glory.”

Daenerys pushed aside her irritation at Eola and stood up as well. The corridor beyond the gate led to some stairs and past those she could see more dwarven automatons: two dwarven spiders, two dwarven spheres, and behind them standing at the twice as tall as Borkul the Beast and built with the same mighty proportions was the gigantic armored form of a dwarven centurion. Its right arm was a warhammer. Its left arm was a battleaxe. Unlike the one she’d fought in the Falmer caves outside of Whiterun this one was whole and undamaged.

The good news was that none of the dwarven automatons standing at the top of the stairs attacked. They all stood still as statues. The two dwarven spiders were the closest. The two dwarven spheres stood behind them already unfolded into their humanoid forms with weapons poised to attack, but just standing there. The dwarven centurion looked almost like part of the wall, an armored statue carved in the image of its creators. The bad news was that her Clairvoyance spell had led them here. This was the way out.

“Everyone halt!” ordered Madanach. “No one goes up those stairs. No one even goes through that gate without my say so. Council meeting. Now.”

Daenerys did not want to turn her back on the dwarven automatons. They were simply too deadly, but she had to set an example. So, she walked toward Madanch with a calm she did not feel. She could see fear on the faces of men as she walked past them. They had seen how deadly one dwarven sphere could be. Two of them would be bad enough. Toss in the dwarven centurion and it would be a massacre.

Madanach spoke as soon as they were all gathered together in a huddle. “The giant metal Dwemer construct is a dwarven centurion. I’ve heard of them, but never fought one. They’re dangerous, as in kill us all dangerous. I know we’re running low on food, but I think we’ll have to explore some of the side tunnels and try to find another way out. Daenerys, we’ll be counting on your pathfinding spell.”

“We’re not merely running low on food,” objected Odvan. “My Bretons are almost out. If we’re going to search for another path, maybe you Forsworn could share some rations. You’ve been feasting on meat.”

“Aww, poor Odvan,” teased Eola. “If you’re hungry, we have plenty of meat to go around. Falmer are a bit stringy, but we’ll be glad to share.”

Daenerys felt herself growing angry. Food was not a joking matter. The Bretons went to half-rations that morning to stretch them out, but they would run out soon. She wouldn’t be surprised if some hadn't rationed as they should and had run out already. The Forsworn making a show of eating Falmer meat would just exacerbate the tensions between the Bretons and the Forsworn. She ignored their baiting to focus on the real problem. They needed to get out soon. “What if we fight our way through?”

Madanach snorted. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We have enough trouble with one dwarven sphere. Unless you have been holding back on us even more, we would lose a lot of men to just the two spheres. That’s just the spheres. You claim to have killed a dragon. Ever fought a dwarven centurion?”

“Actually, I have and we killed it with a lot fewer men than we have here. We were better armed and armored, but that didn’t help us kill it. We killed it because automatons are stupid. They look alive but they’re not. We retreated into a tunnel that it couldn’t fit into. It stood there trying to get at us. It breathed steam, smashed walls with its weapons, but just stood there while we blasted it apart from a distance. That last intersection we passed, it had a pit trap that is now an open pit. Do you think that centurion could climb out?”

Odvan answered before Madanach could. “No, it was deeper than that thing is tall with straight walls. Unless it can leap out, it would be stuck in the pit. Is that your plan? Lure it to the pit?”

“For the centurion – ” began Daenerys.

“But it isn’t just the centurion,” objected Madanach. “The spiders would climb the walls and those spheres would just shoot over it. How many people would die of crossbow bolts while we try your plan? What if the centurion isn’t stupid enough to walk into a pit?”

“Give me a moment. I’m thinking. A lot depends on if they can be lured out separately or not. We don’t know how they’re triggered.”

If they were triggered by proximity, then someone could creep up carefully. Wake up the spiders. Run for it. Lead the spiders to an ambush. It could work. The spiders were dangerous, but not fast. Wouldn’t work as well on the spheres. They were fast. They were also armed with crossbows. Whoever tried to lure them would die. Unless she did it and used **Feim**. Eight seconds of invulnerability would help, but still dangerous. Could she make it to the pit in eight seconds? Even if she did, they would still shoot her. Maybe… What if she could lure just one? What if she couldn’t? What if it wasn’t proximity? What if it was pressure plates or a line being crossed that activated them all? The only way to find out was to try it and see. It would have to be her. She could Shout **Feim** and run for it. Everyone was watching her and waiting, even Madanach. She didn’t have to do this. Trying to find an alternate path was safer in some ways, but it would take time and they were running low on food.

She took a deep breath. “I have a plan. Here is what I want to do.”

She laid out her plan for Odvan, Madanach, Eola and Borkul. They had questions. Odvan and Borkul made some suggestions. Odvan backed her, agreeing that the rations were running low. Madanach mostly listened. In the end he agreed to let her try.

Eola didn’t offer anything constructive and had to get the last word in. “If you get killed, try not to get shot in the arse. It’s a nice arse, and I’d like to have a slice of it to remember you by.”

.oOo.

After they moved everyone into position and made the preparations, Daenerys walked with Verrel back toward the open gates. She stopped outside of arrow range. “I think this is as close as you need to come, Verrel. I’ll take it from here. Thank you for volunteering.”

Verrel smiled. “You’re welcome ma’am. This will be something to tell my grandkids.”

“You have grandkids?” Verrel didn’t look old enough to have kids.

“No, my wife was carrying our first one when I was thrown down here. She would have given birth by now. I still don’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but that doesn’t matter. I intend to live long enough to have lots of grandbabies.”

Daenerys laughed. “Thank you, Verrel. Talos watch over you.”

“And you, ma’am.”

Daenerys walked the rest of the way to the open gate. From the foot of the stairs, she could see all five automatons. She closed her eyes, laid a hand on her chest where her amulet of Talos should be and prayed for courage and speed. She opened her eyes, pulled up her magicka, and focused on the dwarven spider on her right. She cast Clairvoyance, calling for a path. A misty white rope of magic and smoke formed in her hand and snaked out in front of her guiding her to her destination – the dwarven spider.

When the magic touched the spider it sprang to life.

Daenerys immediately turned and ran back to the intersection with the pit trap. She had been offered a shield strapped on her back, but had chosen to wear nothing but her clothes. Her plan depended upon speed.

“One spider! One spider!” yelled Verrel. He turned and ran as well.

One spider was good! That meant the automatons could be lured out. She could probably take one spider with her Shout, but she kept running while counting seconds in her head. She would have eight seconds of invulnerability when she shouted **Feim**. At seven seconds she passed Verrel. At eight seconds she still wasn’t to the pit. That took her eleven seconds. She grabbed the rope that Odvan had added to their plan and swung to the other side. She turned back to watch while she caught her breath.

Borkul and some others swung across with some others to kill the dwarven spider she’d lured to them. They surrounded the dwemer construct and easily destroyed it.

Odvan walked up to her and offered her a waterskin. “Looks like your plan could work. Did you make it all the way to the pit?”

“No, it’s too far a run. My plan can still work. We know we can take one of the dwarven spheres. I’ll lure them in one at a time and we’ll kill them in the corridor. We only need the pit for the centurion, and I can outrun it.”

“You think you can outrun it. The last one you fought was damaged.”

“I passed Verrel and he had a head start. I can do it.” Maybe if she said that enough, she’d believe it.

The next spider she lured out as easily as the first. Instead of running all the way to the pit she ran for eight seconds and reached the waiting warriors. She turned on the spider, and Shouted, “ **Yol** - **Toor** - **Shul**!” Her Thu’um smashed the dwarven spider back and turned it into scrap metal.

There were a lot of congratulations coming her way. People were smiling, both the Forsworn and the Bretons.

Odvan again offered her some water. “Have a drink.”

She took the water and drank greedily. “Thank you, Odvan.”

“Thank you, lass. You’re the one risking your arse.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin my ass. Eola already called dibs on it.” It was supposed to be a joke, but in truth she was more worried about the dwarven spheres than the centurion. With the centurion she could just keep running and swing across the pit. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

“Fuck, Eola. The Forsworn won’t dine on any of our fallen. Especially you.”

Daenerys smiled. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t suggest fucking Eola. There’s a long line.”

After resting and trading more banter with Odvan she walked back down the corridor. When she reached the foot of the stairs, she paused to stretch. She cast Clairvoyance at the dwarven sphere on the right. As soon as it started to move she Shouted, “ **Feim**!”

The world faded around her and went ghostly. She ran. She ran full out, arms and legs pumping, running as if her life depended on it, because it did. As she ran she counted seconds. Twice she felt something brush her back. Most likely crossbow bolts that had no effect on her while she was ethereal. Despite running full out, she didn’t quite make it to where the men were gathered when her Shout faded. She kept running until she reached them and then turned around to Shout. When she turned around she saw the dwarven sphere not far behind her with the crossbow aimed at her.

She didn’t see the quarrel fly. It was too fast. She just felt pain as the bolt buried itself in her chest. If it had struck on her left side, it would have pierced her heart and no magic could have saved her, but it struck on her right side. The impact knocked her back and she fell to the ground. The pain was overwhelming. It hurt so bad that she could hardly think of anything else. Her chest hurt so much. It hurt to breathe, but she was gasping for air because she couldn’t get enough. She grabbed for the quarrel, trying to pull it free, but her strength failed her. It wouldn’t budge, and she couldn’t heal the wound with the quarrel lodged in her chest. She was dimly aware others were fighting.

Suddenly Verrel was over her. “Sorry about this.” He took his sword, an actual steel blade and not made from chaurus chitin, and sliced open her linen shift. He grabbed it in both hands and ripped it wider. “Gods. If I pull it out, can you heal yourself?”

She tried to speak, but it came out garbled. She tasted blood. She nodded.

Verrel grabbed the quarrel with both hands and yanked.

Pain beyond belief. John Snow’s dagger to her heart had hurt less. Even as she died, the pain of betrayal had hurt more than the cold steel in her beating heart. This was agony. She screamed and it sounded more like the squeal of a hurt pig than a sound a human would make. Through the pain she reached for her magicka and prayed to Talos to make the pain stop. Blessed relief flooded through her. She kept channeling healing until she drained herself of magicka. Then she closed her eyes and let blessed unconsciousness take her.


	14. Chapter 13

# Chapter 13

Tirdas, the 12th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys stood in the ruined throne room of the Red Keep. The roof and most of the walls had fallen revealing the desolation she had made of King’s Landing. Flakes of ash fell like snowfall from a dull overcast sky the color of smoke. The Iron Throne, her dream, her destiny, was finally hers. It stood behind her as she spoke with Jon Snow. Her lover looked troubled, but so beautiful. His hair was tousled, his beard unkempt, but he had come to her. He had denied her, but now he held her again. One arm wrapped around her as she pressed her body against him. He was so difficult to read. He looked both troubled and resolved, but he was holding her again.

“Be with me,” she pleaded. “Build a new world with me. This is our reason. It has been from the beginning since you were a little boy with a bastard's name, and I was a little girl who couldn't count to twenty. We do it together. We break the wheel together.”

“You are my queen,” his voice full of emotion. “Now and always.”

He kissed her hard and passionately. The kind of kiss that she had longed to receive from him again. Since learning his heritage, he had been so distant, turning from her like everyone else… He moved away and she felt a sharp pain in her chest. A kiss not born of passion, but of cold steel, the kiss of death.

Why? He loved her. She loved him. Why had he betrayed her? She tasted blood.

Jon?

His face looked different. Older now as he held her. No, it wasn’t Jon holding her. Jon had dropped her, but someone else had caught her. Someone she knew, but who was he? Then she slipped from his arms, through the floor, and kept falling. Down past the ruined floors or the Red Keep. Down into the tunnels below. Down past the black cells where no light shined. Falling, falling, through darkness and stone into the earth. As she fell she grew, larger, stronger, and the earth around her grew heavier and hotter. Surrounded by molten rock and fire she let loose a cry of pain and betrayal. For a moment the world stopped and cried with her as she cast aside her mortal shell.

She grew at an ever-increasing speed as doors in her mind long sealed shut rattled and shook. She floated in a vast empty void, the sun on her scales and the blue and white orb of a world beneath her. The world was round, like a wheel… like a wheel… like a wheel. The world was a wheel. She’d said that. All the nobles with their games were just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top, and on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground. She had wanted to break the wheel, but it wasn’t just Westeros or Essos, or even that world, or any world. It was all a wheel. They were all wheels. On and on they all spun, worlds without end, spinning wheels within wheels. A never-ending cycle of rising and falling…

She woke up. Her head rested in someone’s lap. A man’s upside-down face loomed over her. Not Jon. She knew him. Eltrys. Her foolish employer from Markarth.

“You’re awake!” He sounded so happy about it, like a child.

She sat up. “Yes, I’m awake.” Was that such a surprise? She had healed herself. She scooted back a little from him. He was a useful shield from the attentions of other men, but Eltrys was married and she tried to respect that.

“She’s awake!” he shouted it this time.

People started coming over. It seemed like many of them had been asleep. The attention felt awkward, especially in contrast to her dream. That dream had been important, one of her dragon dreams, the kind that lingered around, the kind she couldn’t forget because they were important, but they were still dreams and half nonsense. Why was everyone reacting so strongly to her being awake? She could understand the Breton gang being concerned. She was one of them, they had heard of the Dragonborn, and she had come close to dying. However, it wasn’t just the Bretons. Even many of the Forsworn seemed glad to see her awake.

“I’m fine.” She stood up and realized her clothes didn’t really fit. She was wearing a man’s linen shirt and trousers. She had to grab the trousers to keep them from falling off. She remembered that Verrel had ripped open her dress. It was ruined.

Odvan pushed through the crowd. “Daenerys, good to see you back up!” He hugged her.

She hadn’t been expecting an embrace, but she went with it and awkwardly embraced him back with one arm because she couldn’t let go of her trousers without them falling off her. “Yes, I’m back up. Was I out long?”

“Just a few hours, but you wouldn’t wake. We were all worried.” From the relief on Odvan’s face, they had all been very worried. “We’ll need to plan our next move soon, but that can wait. Why don’t you relax and eat something first?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No. I’m not going to relax with this meeting hanging over my head. What is it about?”

“We almost lost you and we did lose three men fighting the dwarven sphere that shot you. Two Bretons and a Forsworn. Madanach wants to look for another path.”

Daenerys sighed. “Of course, he does. His people aren’t starving, and he doesn’t want to share rations with us. Fine. Give me a moment to tie these trousers so they aren’t falling off, and we’ll go talk to him.”

A short while later they again met with Madanach, Borkul, and Eola. They stood a short distance from everyone else. Far enough to not be overheard easily, but close enough that they could hear any shouting in case the Falmer attacked. From the look of the Forsworn party, Madanach was the one that wanted the meeting. Borkul stood to his right, bare-chested, arms crossed, and looking totally unconcerned. Eola waved at her like a child.

She took a position beside Odvan and stared at Madanach. “You called this meeting?”

“Yes.” Madanach had a dour look to him. “This plan of yours isn’t working. You almost died, and we lost three men. Since we left the mines, we’ve lost almost half our men.”

“And the Bretons have lost more than you,” replied Odvan. “What’s your point? None of us expected that finding a new path through a Dwemer ruin would be easy. We knew we would lose men. We would have lost many more without Daenerys and Eola.”

“I agree,” replied Madanach. “That’s part of my concern. She almost died to that dwarven sphere. We can’t afford to lose either of our healers. We should explore the side corridors and look for another way out.”

Daenerys crossed her arms and glared at Madanach. “Are you ready to share rations? We have less food than you do.” She was so tired of this crap.

Eola smiled. “We have a good bit of meat we’re willing to share. You’ve never really eaten until you’ve savored the taste of human flesh.”

“No,” replied Odvan firmly. “Madnach, keep your dog on a leash. We’re not cannibals. The idea of eating human flesh is sickening to us, but we have been overlooking your habits. You’re not making it easier for us to cooperate when you taunt us with it or try to force it upon us. You can also cut the crap. Your Forsworn have more than enough food while we’re running out. Exploring those side passages could take hours or days, and there is no guarantee that any alternate path won’t lead us past someplace even more deadly.”

“Which is why I agreed to Daenerys’s plan before. However, we lost three men to a sphere. That centurion could be worse. What if the pit trap doesn’t stop it? If there are more automatons further up the stairway that we didn’t see? Let’s spend one day searching the side passageways. If that doesn’t work, then we can come back here.”

“One day?” asked Odvan. “Perhaps. Daenerys, what do you think?”

She hadn’t stopped glaring at Madanach. She uncrossed them, but that didn’t settle the anger in her stomach. “I think that I am tired of this so-called alliance. You Forsworn are treating us just as the guards did. You dole out just enough food so we can work for you and dangle the rest over our heads. I want what the rest of us Bretons want – freedom. However, I don’t want to trade the Nord boot for a Forsworn boot.”

“We are nothing like the Nords!” Madanach’s hand was on his weapon and his face was lurid.

“If that’s so, stop acting like them!” Daenerys was very tempted to end this with a Shout. With one word, **Iiz** , she could freeze Madanach in place. With three words she could destroy him.

“She’s right,” said Odvan. “You’re fine with her risking her life. You’re fine with us Bretons risking our lives. I lost two good men in that fight. You lost one. You want to go explore the side paths, do it on your own. We don’t need your help.”

Madanach scowled. “Fine. We will share some rations to fill your whining bellies and then we will spend two days looking for an alternate path.”

“Two days now? How much food?” asked Odvan which started the dickering.

Eventually, they settled on a deal. The Forsworn would provide an additional day of rations to every Breton. They would search the side corridors for a day and a half and try to find an alternate path. The Forsworn tried to revisit butchering the Breton dead for meat, but Odvan wouldn’t yield on that.

They set off exploring the side paths and encountered just as many traps and automatons as they had before as they made their way through the Dwemer city. They killed four more dwarven spiders and two more spheres without losses, but they lost one man to a scything blade trap. Daenerys fell into a pit and broke her foot, but that was easily healed. She cast Clairvoyance at every intersection. Twice the spell switched directions, showing an alternate path. The first time it merely led them back to the same set of corridors by a different path. The second time it led them through a Falmer infested section of the corridors.

The Falmer apparently knew they were coming. They waited until they had passed and then attacked from behind. One of the attacking Falmer was a mage and attacked with frost magic. When they turned to attack another group of Falmer attacked from the other end of their column while two more popped out in the middle. They almost lost Eola to one of the hidden skulkers. A Falmer ripped her belly open before others jumped in to defend her. Eola was able to back away and heal herself, but they lost four men in the attack. In the end it was all for nothing as Clairvoyance led them back to the same gate.

Madanach trudged up to them as they made camp back at the pit where they started. “Odvan. Daenerys. We’ll try it your way tomorrow. Better the daedra we known, then the one we don’t.”

Odvan nodded his agreement. “I think that is for the best.”

Daenerys saw the defeat carved in every line on Madanach’s face. She felt tempted to make a sarcastic remark and rub it in that she’d been right, but there was no victory to crow about. They’d lost five men exploring the side passageways. Men they couldn’t afford to lose. They were down to almost half their original number and still had not found their way out. They could all die in the depths of Nchuand-Zel and no one would ever know. She still didn’t trust the Forsworn. She certainly didn’t like them, but she needed them. “You took a gamble and lost. You weren’t wrong. There might have been an easier path. My spell only shows the most direct route, not the safest.”

Madanach nodded. “Let us hope your gamble pays off better tomorrow.”

The Forsworn behaved better that evening. They still feasted upon human flesh, but they didn’t make a spectacle of it. Many of them also listened when she gave another sermon and called people forth to honor their dead. Two of the Forsworn even came forward to speak of their fallen. Eola still put on a show coupling with Madanach, Borkul, and others, but at least she was less vocal about it. Daenerys was also too tired to care. She fell asleep cuddling up to Eltrys for warmth.

.oOo.

They altered the plan on their second attempt to draw out the guardians. She would still sneak forward and lure one of the automaton to attack her, but this time the warriors would wait in ambush halfway down the corridor instead of at the pit. That way her eight seconds of invulnerability would not run out before she reached the ambush. The plan ran into a small snag at the start. Sometime while they slept the destroyed automatons had been replaced. The full complement of two spiders, two spheres, and the centurion stood guard again. While it was a little disconcerting how quickly the automatons were replaced, it didn’t change the plan very much. Daenerys lured one spider back to the awaiting warriors where it was easily destroyed. Then she lured the other one.

The real test came when she lured the first dwarven sphere. Once again she ran down the corridor after Shouting, “ **Feim**!” She felt the slight brush of bolts hitting her, but this time she reached the ambush site before her eight seconds of invulnerability faded. She turned and faced the dwarven sphere letting it attack her while men surrounded it. It struck her twice with its sword to no avail before she slipped back into phase with the real world.

She smashed at with Molag Bal’s mace. “Clear!” Everyone backpedaled giving her room, but that also gave her the dwarven sphere’s full attention. She blocked the thing’s sword with the mace and then Shouted “ **Yol** - **Toor** - **Shul**!”

The sphere went flying back wobbling and spinning, and the ambushing warriors gave chase. They swarmed it, attacked while it was off-balance and didn’t let up. The automaton was quickly destroyed. When the thing finally collapsed into a heap there was a brief sound of thunder and a ghostly light flew from the automaton to be absorbed by Molag Bal’s mace.

“What was that last bit of magic?” asked Verrel as walked back to join her.

“Soul Trap,” she replied automatically. “I’ve seen it demonstrated when I trained at the College of Winterhold.”

“Huh, didn’t know you studied there. I thought you were a priestess.”

“I am a priestess of Talos now.” Or at least aspiring to be one. “However, I studied at the College before I heard the call of Talos.” She was surprised that the Soul Trap had activated. The dwarven sphere had been an automaton, a mechanical thing. It shouldn’t have had a soul to steal. On the other hand, they had dug through the wreckage of more than one automaton. Some of the men were now using swords pried from the spheres or the talons of the spiders as weapons. They weren’t good weapons because they didn’t have hilts, but they were sharp and weighed less than Falmer weapons. The men who had dug through the wreckage had also found soul gems. She hadn’t thought much about the contraptions having soul gems inside them. It wasn’t like she could enchant anything, but was that how the Dwemer machines worked? Was it the soul within the gem that animated them? If so, had she just sent a soul to Molag Bal, something that she had determined never to do. She set the mace down. “Leave the mace be.”

“We know,” replied Verrel. “You’ve warned us repeatedly.”

Daenerys nodded. “I know, but still. Just leave it.”

After healing the men who fought in the vanguard with her, she crept back up to the gate and lured out the other dwarven sphere. It went almost as well as the other sphere, but she did have to dodge back to avoid the sword rather than block with the mace. Borkul got cut up, but she easily healed him. Then it was time to pull the dwarven centurion.

She had told everyone that this would be less dangerous than the sphere. It should be. The plan was simple. Lure the centurion out. Run as fast as she could to the pit and swing across. Then blast it with spells and Shouts from the other side of the pit. It was a simple plan, but she was well aware that it could go badly. The dwarven centurion that she’d fought in the Falmer caves had been damaged, and Faralda had still taken a long time to blast it to bits.

She kept her doubts to herself as she crept carefully up to it step by step. It sat there looking like a carving and did nothing. Was it in fact a carving? Or broken? She took a few more steps.

The automaton came alive with a whoosh of steam and she ran for it sprinting as fast as she could. She could outrun it. Dwarven centurions were slower than dwarven spheres, but she still ran full out, sprinting with everything she had as the centurion chased her. The thing sounded angry. It shook the hallway as it chased her and let out other loud noises, but she was easily losing it. She made it to the pit and paused to watch it approach. She had opened up quite a lead, but the centurion was still following. She swung across the pit and waited. As soon as the centurion reached the other side of the pit, she shouted “ **Yol** - **Toor** - **Shul**!” which didn’t seem to damage it at all. In return it breathed out hot steam at her.

All around her men screamed in pain, but she stood there unphased. The steam didn’t bother her at all, but she hadn’t realized it had such a dangerous attack or that it could reach so far. “Eola, heal them. I’ve got this.”

At least she hoped that she had this. What if they couldn’t hurt each other? The centurion’s steam didn’t burn her. It just drenched her in hot water. Her Shout didn’t seem to have hurt it much either, but it just stayed there on the other side of the pit occasionally whooshing steam at her. She waited for her magicka to return and Shouted at it again. It still didn’t look damaged, but she waited while it tried to scare her away with hot water while her magicka came back. After her third Shout, the centurion started wobbling some. After her fourth Shout it, stopped blowing steam. After her fifth Shout, it fell down and stopped moving.

Odvan and Verrel hoisted her upon their shoulders and paraded her around while everyone cheered. Eventually, the celebrations died down and she was asked to go back down the corridor and see whether there were any more automatons that had to be lured out.

She didn’t find any more automatons, but she did find out what they were guarding. They’d found an armory. The room was full of dwarven armor and weapons. Looking around she saw more than enough weapons and armor to outfit everyone Forsworn and Breton in their party three times over. This would greatly increase their chances of escaping Nchuand-Zel. However, this armory was much more. This armory represented wealth and power. She and the Bretons would be able to claim armor and weapons for themselves, but there was no way they could carry the rest out. That meant that Madanach would return with his loyal followers and claim what remained. The mere existence of this armory would aid his cause. Whatever happened outside that had delayed the Forsworn return, the promise of a cache of dwemer metal arms and armor would have men rallying to Madanach’s banner. This armory meant life for her and the surviving Bretons, but it meant conquest and death for Markarth.


	15. Chapter 14

# Chapter 14

Middas, the 13th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys knew what delivering the armory into Madanach’s hands would mean for Markarth, but there was no way she could keep its existence hidden from him. They had fought too hard to defeat the guardians. Walking away wasn’t an option. Not to mention the hard reality that they were down to half their number. The weapons and armor in this ancient cache would save Breton lives. She had already made her choice when she allied with the Forsworn to escape. She locked away her doubts and returned to tell everyone of the armory she had discovered.

After some shouts of disbelief, everyone rushed to see the armory. She was hailed as their savior, leading them to the arms and weapons that they needed to fight their way to freedom. She understood the reason why. Despite their attempt to keep their leadership meetings quiet, the convicts knew that Madanach had wanted to find a different path while she had insisted on fighting them. They also knew she’d placed her own life at risk to defeat them. To both the Bretons and the Foresworn she was the hero of the day.

The adulation of the Forsworn made her feel queasy. She could almost hear the screams of the people of Markarth. Was this different from when she burned King’s Landing? Markarth would fall and Madanach would put every Nord, man, woman, and child to the sword. The deaths would be measured in thousands, compared to the hundreds of thousands who had died when she burned King’s Landing, but still… While everyone ran around the armory looking for weapons and armor, she quietly prayed to Talos for guidance but received none.

“Daenerys!” called Eltrys. He walked up to her wearing a helmet, breastplate and boots made of dwemer metal and was carrying the other pieces. “Aren’t you going to pick out some armor? Is there nothing in your size?”

She seized upon the size issue as an excuse. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m short and slight. I doubt any of these will fit me, but you can help me look.”

“Yes. Of course, I’ll help. Not like I can put the rest of this on until we can rig up some straps.”

Daenerys nodded her understanding. She hadn’t considered the problem, but she understood the issue. Dwarven armor was a full plate armor and like all such armor was designed to go over padding and required straps and ties to stay in place. While the dwemer metal in the armory had survived for centuries, the padding and straps had long since rotted away. She allowed Eltrys to lead the search. He had not been adapting well to life in the mines or fighting his way out. Now, he had enough enthusiasm for both of them.

Eltrys got the other Bretons involved and they found a few pieces of armor that were obviously intended for female Dwemer judging by the breasts carved into the breastplates. They were still too big for her, but not as bad as the others. Even with the proper padding she couldn’t have worn the armor. Without the padding it was worse than no armor. The helmet wobbled and slipped to where she couldn’t see. The breastplate kept shifting about sliding over her shoulder. Even the boots were too loose. None of it fit her. Annoyingly, Eola was large enough to wear one of the suits of armor meant for a Dwemer female. Daenerys was the only one left without armor.

Rather than sulk about it, she walked around and helped the Bretons get kitted out in their new armor. They didn’t have any padding or straps, so they had to improvise. Most of the men cut strips of cloth from the legs of their trousers. A few with long beards cut them off and braided them. She helped them add their improvised bindings and secure the armor in place. The improvised straps weren’t as good as properly sized leather straps, but no one complained about having armor.

The way out from the armory led up. The stairs that led up to the automaton guardians they’d defeated switched back and led up to the surface. At Madanach’s suggestion they locked the gates behind them to keep out the Falmer. Daenerys understood that he was also securing the armor for his eventual return, but she didn’t challenge him on it. What would be the point?

Clairvoyance led them up several stairs and to what appeared to be some kind of housing district. There was a main corridor with many rooms off to the side. Some were obviously bedrooms judging by the beds carved out of stone. Others were dining rooms with bowls, plates, and diningware all made of dwemer metal. Other rooms had no obvious purpose. They also found Falmer, which they killed with surprising ease. The dwemer metal armor made a huge difference, but it was more than that. The Falmer they had fought before had been clever. They ambushed and made coordinated attacks. These Falmer attacked foolishly in small numbers and were easily slaughtered. Daenerys wondered if they were perhaps from a different tribe from the other Falmer, or perhaps they were outcasts? Either seemed to be a plausible explanation.

After the Falmer decisively lost the first few fights, they started firing a few arrows and then retreating to the darkness and side passageways. They had a short council meeting and decided not to pursue the fleeing Falmer. Instead, they stuck to the path and pushed their way through this section of the city.

Her spell led them to another walkway through a large chamber. It was a topic of whispered debate as to whether they had returned to the main chamber where they had started, only many stories up, or if they were crossing over a different chamber. Regardless, there were no archers and they made it across the pathway without losing a man and found another lift. This lift took them up to a floor that was more roughhewn than the rest of Nchuand-Zel. Some of the walls were carved, but others were rough stone. They ran into a section with some webbing and killed a giant frostbite spider and many of its spiderlings. Past the spider they came to a section that had obviously been mined recently by men rather than dwemer. Mining carts, picks, wheelbarrows, and timbers lay scattered about the tunnels. This section of Nchaund-Zel seemed to have been abandoned for decades which still made it far younger than the dwemer city. Some of the dull grey veins glinted in the glow of her Candlelight spell, so it had most likely been a silver mine. That wasn’t surprising. This was Markarth after all.

They continued up and the path came to a large set of doors. The men up front opened them cautiously and quickly closed them again. “It’s still underground, but there are men outside!”

Madanach pushed his way to the front. “Let me look.” He opened the door briefly and shut it again. “Understone Keep!”

That set off a wave of murmurs among the Bretons and the Forsworn.

Daenerys understood why everyone was excited. They’d found the way out, or rather a way out, but Understone Keep was an underground fortress inside the fortress city of Markarth. This was where Jarl Igmund held court, where his family and other government officials and courtiers lived. This was also where the Markarth guard was garrisoned. Escape was so close, but still so far away. There was no way they could just walk through Understone Keep dressed in either prisoner sackcloth or dwemer metal armor held together with ripped cloth strips.

Madanach turned to face her. “I told you to find the way out, priestess. We cannot leave this way. Why did your spell lead us here?” Despite the accusation of his words, there was a distinct lack of his usual hostility in his tone. He seemed honestly curious and even pleased.

It didn’t take a genius to understand why Madanach was pleased. He could use this exit from Nchuand-Zel to bypass not just the city walls, but the guard on the jarl’s keep. This exit to the Dwemer city would make it much easier for the Forsworn to capture Markarth. With this tunnel, they wouldn’t just bypass the city wall, but could assault the jarl’s keep from the inside. With a little bit of stealth and luck, the Forsworn might catch the guard napping and slaughter many of them before the Nords could even raise an alarm. Even if the Forsworn didn’t have luck, they would still be fighting on even footing instead of having to force their way into Underground Keep. That the dwemer armory was not far below was just the icing on the sweetroll for the Forsworn.

“Clairvoyance is a finicky spell,” explained Daenerys once again. “It will always show the shortest path to a goal, but it doesn’t care about traps or other dangers. I was looking for the way to the surface. The shortest path leads through Underground Keep.”

Odvan politely asked, “Why didn’t it point us back through the portcullis in Cidhna mines then?”

“Because I searched for a path in front of me, not behind me. I’ll try that again, but it might just lead us back to Cidhna Mine.” Clairvoyance was a useful, but it was well known that small details in what you wanted could result in very different paths to your goal.

Daenerys turned her back to the door, closed her eyes, and focused on a path that led to outside. This time she thought of the mountains outside the city of Markarth and not just outside where she could see the sky. The magic worked and a smokey path formed in front of her.

“Is that it?” asked Madanach.

She shrugged. “We’ll have to follow it to find out.”

Clairvoyance pointed them back the way they came, past the mines, past the dead spiders, and back to the pathways in the chamber. This time they had to take the lift down a level. This led them to another pathway and into more chambers inhabited by Falmer. These Falmer were more organized, and they had to fight their way through. The dwemer metal armor made a huge difference. It also helped that there were few intersections, connecting rooms, or side passages. Without places to hide, the Falmer couldn’t use their favored ambush tactics. However, they had another trick to play. The Falmer used chaurus reapers as war beasts to attack and fought alongside the insectoid creatures. The reapers spat poison that leaked around gaps in the armor and let the poison got through.

They changed formation and Daenerys dropped back to the middle of the party. She saved her magicka for healing and Candlelight instead of trying to Shout. It made sense as the Falmer and chaurus attacked quickly and in numbers unlike the dwarven automata. The dwarven armor made a difference. They cut a bloody swathe through the Falmer and left a pile of corpses behind while only taking one casualty of their own.

The path continued upward and leading along a long main corridor with few branches. They encountered fewer Falmer and more chaurus as they went. The insectoid creatures grew more aggressive attacking in swarms. The reason became obvious when they started finding piles of chaurus eggs in the corridors. They were approaching one of their nests. The fighting intensified further when some of the winged chaurus hunters joined the fight. The giant wasp-like creatures resembled chaurus reapers, but the hunters could fly. They were fast and nimble. They dipped and dived outside of sword range while spitting poison. When they spotted an opening, the hunters darted down. They slashed with razor-sharp talons, plunged stingers the size of daggers into their victim, and just as quickly flew back into the air. They lost three men in heavy fighting, and the chaurus kept coming. Eola ran out of magicka, picked up a sword, and joined the frey.

Daenerys found herself the only healer as Madanach called for them to fall back. Maybe they could have pulled off a fighting retreat against men or Falmer, but the chaurus simply didn’t stop attacking. Daenerys rationed out the little bit of magicka she had left. She used just enough healing to get men back up and fight without completely healing them. She knew that partially healing a wound could leave wounds that magic couldn’t heal, but she had no choice. The chaurus just wouldn’t stop attacking, and this time they had no convenient doors they could slam shut. There was no place to run, no place to hide. There was only fight or die.

With the last drop of her magicka gone Daenerys waded into the fight herself wielding Molag Bal’s mace. The battle had devolved into chaos: no battle lines, no tactics, and almost no light. A few men waved torches in one hand and blades in the other. The darkness favored the bugs, but they didn’t give up. They fought, and they killed, and they died. Everyone else had the benefit of wearing dwemer metal armor. Daenerys didn’t have that protection, but she fought anyway. Molag Bal’s mace was good for squishing bugs. It smashed through chaurus chitin like flesh. A blue flash and a crash like thunder accompanied every kill she made. Daenerys had no regrets. The chaurus were just bugs. They didn’t have proper souls, and if Molag Bal could also claim the souls of beasts, he was welcome to them. In the chaos of the battle she didn’t even see the chaurus that spat poison at her and covered her in venom. She had recovered enough magicka to cure herself a little. She still felt weakened and nauseous, but she refused to die here in a dark tunnel fighting bugs.

She reached down inside herself and set her werewolf free. The transformation was painful, but surprisingly fast. Fire lit in her belly like strong alcohol and spread out into her limbs. The warmth turned to whipcracks of pain that surged through her body as she fell down on all fours and howled. Her body grew so fast she ripped out of her clothes as she lunged back to her feet. She had been the shortest of them all. Now she stood head and shoulders above Borgul the Beast. She charged into the chaurus and slashed out at them with her claws shredding through their chitin like it was made of paper. She heard men cheering her as she became a whirlwind of death.

She did not fight alone. Borkul the Beast started yelling at the top of his lungs. It wasn’t his usual cursing and taunting. He was screaming incoherently as he fought. He abandoned his shield and fought with a hammer in one hand and a sword in the other.

The human part of her realized that Borkul had just gone berserk. The wolf had to be restrained from attacking this new challenger. Daenerys focused her aggression on the chaurus and charged. Borkul charged with her. They plunged into the thick of the chaurus swarm. She dealt death with both claws while Borkul whirled and smashed with his hammer and his sword. The wave of chaurus parted before them like an ocean wave breaking upon the rocks. Her werewolf eyes had no trouble seeing in the dimly lit corridor, and whatever she saw she killed. She made the mistake of biting the head off one chaurus. It tasted like poison. She spit it out and only used her claws after that.

They weren’t the only ones fighting. Everyone rallied behind her and Borkul. They exploited the openings created and killed off the bugs they only injured. Suddenly, the tables had flipped and what had been a last stand turned into a route. She fought and killed and killed until the chaurus were no more. Then she threw back her head and howled her victory.

.oOo.

With the battle won, Daenerys let her wolf go. Her wolf had been hungry. While chaurus meat was tainted, the men around her smelled like food to her wolf, but she refused to dine on human flesh. She was naked, but she could hear men moaning in pain and the sound of a woman sobbing. Healing the wounded and getting out of here were more important than trying to find clothes. Just because they had defeated these chaurus didn’t mean there weren’t more out there that might attack, especially with the Falmer using them as warbeasts. She called upon her faith in Talos and cast Candlelight.

The Candlelight spell wasn’t bright, but it was enough to let her see the carnage of the battle. Broken chaurus corpses littered the tunnel along with the surviving Bretons and Foresworn. The sobbing woman was Eola. She lay atop the corpse of Borkul crying.

Daenerys was surprised that Borkul was dead. Her memories of being a wolf were fuzzy. She remembered them fighting side by side, but at the end she had been fighting alone. As a wolf she hadn’t really noticed that Borkul fell. She’d been too focused on the fight. Looking at his remains, she realized just how much damage Borkul had taken. His corpse was covered in puncture wounds and slashes. His belly was ripped open, one of his arms was missing below the elbow, and his left eye was a bloody mess. Any one of those wounds should have killed him, not to mention dozens of minor injuries, but he’d kept fighting. From what she knew about berserkers, especially orc berserkers, it wasn’t uncommon for a berserker to keep fighting after taking several lethal blows until they finally collapsed from blood loss.

She left Eola to her grief. Others were injured and she had no comfort to offer the priestess of Namira and there were others who needed her help. They had lost a lot of men in the battle with the chaurus. Bretons had died, and the survivors all had varying degrees of injuries.

Daenerys had just finished healing a Forsworn who was suffering more from poison than anything else when Odvan approached her carrying clothes. “You should cover yourself. You may be a priestess, but you’re still one of two women surrounded by men.”

“Gods bless you, Odvan.” He wasn’t wrong. The garment was just a shirt made of prison sackcloth. It was sized for a man and way too big for her, but at least she wasn’t naked any longer. She pulled it on and ignored that it didn’t fit her at all. It was better than nothing. She looked up to Odvan. “I have the wolf under control, but will it cause any trouble that I’m a werewolf?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Odvan. “You’re… you. Priestess, mage, Dragonborn, why not toss werewolf on top of that? Nobody gives a damn. You saved all our lives too many times. You’re like one of those heroes of old. Say the word. Where you go, we follow.”

“Thank you, Odvan.” She certainly noticed Odvan’s use of we. He was counting himself among those that would follow her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but now wasn’t the time to debate. “There are still injured. I need to heal them, but we shouldn’t stay in this tunnel. The Falmer are routed for now, but they’ll return eventually, and they’ll bring more chaurus. We don’t want to be here then. Can you organize everyone and have our dead placed in a pile? I’ll hold a short prayer and burn the corpses so neither the Forsworn or the Falmer eat them, but we should keep moving. This tunnel still leads up. Hopefully, it won’t be much farther.”

“Yes… Lady Targaryen.” Odvan turned and departed.

She went from man to man offering them healing. There were so few of them left. They had left Cidnha mine with a bit more than fifty men. Now they were down to seventeen. They started out with more than fifty, now they numbered less than a score. The dwarven plate had undoubtedly helped, but they had still lost men. The Forsworn had taken the brunt of the losses during the last fight, only six of them remained. There were still ten Bretons surviving, eleven if she counted herself in that number. She wasn’t sure why that had happened. She had healed Breton and Forsworn equally, but that battle had been chaotic even before she unleashed her wolf. After that she remembered only killing and killing until ever charus was dead. However, it happened, it was a good thing. The Breton’s advantage in numbers would give her the upper hand in bargaining with Madanach.

Eltrys was one of the survivors. He had never been a fighter, but there was charus ichor dripping from his sword and splattered all over his armor. He was sometimes foolish, but he was loyal. She bent down and healed him. He wasn’t even too badly injured, at least not physically. However, he had the haunted visage of one who had seen too much death. “We’re all going to die down here aren’t we? Well, except for you. Every time we’re up against the wall you pull up something else.”

“No,” she told him firmly. “We’ve come this far Eltrys. Don’t give up.” In hindsight she should have left him behind in the mines. She had never trusted Madanach completely when he’d spoken of fifty men easily pushing through the Falmer. She had known it wouldn’t be so easy, but she had still underestimated the dangers of Nchuand-Zel. So many died to get this far. If he were a Nord, she’d say something about Sovngarde, but he wasn’t. “You have a pregnant wife who needs you, Eltrys. Don’t give up. We’re going to make it. In fact, we’re almost free. Just a little bit further.”

“You really think so?”

Daenerys put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, we’re going to make it. The worst is past. We will soon be free.”

.oOo.

As Odvan got everyone organized, she walked up and down the corridor healing the wounded and using Flames to destroy every chaurus egg. The Bretons piled their corpses into a funeral pyre. She had a brief prayer for the dead with only a few attending. The Forsworn butchered their dead for meat, Borkul included. Eola did it herself with tears in her eyes. Daenerys fired the remains after the butchering was done.

In the process of cleaning up, they also discovered recent human remains that had been partially devoured by the chaurus. The corpses were eaten down the bone, but still wore fur armor in the Forsworn style. Clearly, these were the remains of the Forsworn reinforcements that Madanch had been expecting. That meant they were on the path to the mountainside exit outside the city of Markarth. Much of the fur armor was destroyed, but they recovered a few good pieces. There was a bit of a debate over how to divide the spoils as the fur armor would make good padding to wear under the dwemer metal armor. Daenerys waded into the debate long enough to claim a set of fur armor for herself. Odvan immediately backed her up and Madanach also agreed. After that was decided, Daenerys didn’t care. She let Odvan and Madanach argue it out and picked out the best pieces she could find to make a set of fur armor for herself. The fur armor she claimed didn’t match, and it smelled of charus, but she felt dressed for the first time since she’d been thrown into the mines.

Exhaustion was written on every face, but no one complained when they pressed forward. There was no choice of direction, just a single tunnel that wandered around some but led generally upward. They encountered more chaurus egg sacks, which they burned, but they had apparently managed to kill all the adults.

After so long underground it seemed unnatural to see a glow up ahead, but when it sank in that they had finally made they all rushed forward. The bright sunlight was almost painful after so long in the darkness, but they all pushed toward only to come to a halt when they reached the exit. The tunnel opened on a ledge overlooking a forested hillside. Beyond the pine trees, the sun rose like a promise in the east. In the distance she could see the glint of water in the valley below. A trail of smoke to the north indicated there was a settlement of some sort not too far away.

“I think that’s the most beautiful sight that I have ever seen,” said Eltrys.

After days without sunlight, she had to agree.


End file.
